


Fade to Black

by Iaso



Category: Naruto
Genre: (in the future at least), (that one's in the future too), Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Family, Gen, Humor, It starts dark but it's not gonna stay that way, Romance, Self-Insert, female main character, well okay not only that way but it's Naruto let's be honest it's gonna get a little dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2018-10-24 21:32:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 84,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10750218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iaso/pseuds/Iaso
Summary: Sometimes the end isn't really the end. Just because the screen has faded to black doesn't mean it can't light up again, with life rekindled anew.





	1. Introduction: Part 1

The young man took a long drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke mingle with his lungs before releasing it in one prolonged gust. His eyes drifted to the watch on his wrist, giving his arm a shake to clear the drops of rainwater off the face of it, and the corner of his lips pulled down around the cigarette at the number staring back at him.

His clients were late—four hours late.

He may not have minded so much if his clients had chosen a better meeting place. The village was located in the ass end of Fire Country, so rural that most of the people there had never seen a shinobi in their life. From the second he'd walked past the front gates, the eyes of the village had been on him, holding equal parts judgment and fear—it only got worse the longer he was there. He'd lasted a few minutes in the main part of the restaurant, which his clients had picked as the rendezvous point, before the scrutiny began to grind too hard on his typically steel nerves. Thus, he found himself sitting on the porch, with bits of rain dripping down onto him through the patch-work awning, which did nearly nothing to keep him dry. Despite the fact that he was getting soaked, and his hair slipped out of its usual ponytail to sit in black clumps over his shoulders, he found the porch preferable to being inside.

An hour passed, and the young man was unperturbed. A second hour passed, and he was feeling hints of irritation prickling the back of his mind. A third hour passed, and the irritation was replaced with concern. At four hours, the man snubbed out his third cigarette of the day—the sole cigarette to have lasted more than five minutes in the horrid weather—and hauled himself out of his chair, his path set towards the only hotel in the village.

He didn't know much about his clients; all he had been told was that they were a family of three, whose name held no particular social standing, that wanted to relocate to Konoha.

Still, even that much information was enough to make the young man believe something was awry.

It was unusual for people other than nobles or merchants to commission an escort for such a trek, especially when their starting point was still within the bounds of Fire Country. Shinobi escorts were only hired when there was a potential threat. For nobles, escorts were there to ward off assassinations. For merchants, petty thieves.

What could a peasant family be running from?

He didn't know. He did, however, have a sinking suspicion that whatever it was had caught up to them—that became a problem as he needed them alive to escort them. He supposed that he could technically escort their corpses, but he doubted the Hokage would count that as a completed mission.

With that grim thought, the young man let out a sigh. "This was supposed to be an easy mission."


	2. Introduction: Part 2

There was a man standing in front of me.

My feet took two more steps, moving automatically by that point, before the image clicked in my mind. I staggered to a stop and every muscle in my body locked up, a breath escaping my cracked lips. My eyes went wide. Unconsciously, my gaze flicked up, taking note of the Konoha hitae-ate on his forehead, and something uncertain settled in my gut. This was who he meant—this had to be who he meant.

There was not a single sound, save for the pitter patter of rain as it pounded into the dirt at my feet.

Two days, I had been walking the desolate path.

Two days, I had spent traveling in the downpour.

Two days, I had been incapable of so much as sitting down for more than five minutes at a time, for fear that whatever stalked me in the shadows would take the chance to pounce.

All in search of the Konoha shinobi who would—hopefully—save my life. The speck of me that still clung to its optimist roots was hopeful that that was him, because, by that point, I had no idea what I could possibly do if it wasn't. The little village, the destination that he had given me, was nowhere in sight, and I wouldn't last another day of travel.

The man stared at me with calculating onyx eyes. His lips thinned, a grim line carved into stone features. What was he seeing, when he looked at me? What was he thinking? His body language betrayed no hints of what was going on in his mind. Hunched shoulders, hands in his pockets—a naive eye might read his posture as being casual.

I knew better—shinobi didn't do casual, not in the field, not if the remnants of my memories still held true. He was waiting for something. His eyes remained trained on me without fail, as if he was looking through me, rather than at me.

Was he waiting for me to speak first?

I swallowed, the action grinding against my dry throat like sandpaper. I tried to say something—anything—to the man, but my tongue refused to form words. Another attempt, and instead of producing a tangible sentence, a whimper wormed its way out of my mouth.

His expression seemed to soften at that. He took a step towards me like one would approach an injured animal, bending down a little and stretching a hand out towards me. Then, as if a switch had been flicked, everything in the man went stiff—except he wasn't looking at me any longer.

His gaze shifted to just above my shoulder, something flashing in his palm; all I registered was a sharp whistle as a kunai sailed past my cheek. There was a gurgling sound, and the earthen scent, the one that always clung to the air during spring showers, was replaced with the metallic tang of blood.

By the time my mind fully caught up to what happened, the body was passing through my peripheral as it fell to the ground and landed face-first in the fresh mud. I realized that the kunai had embedded itself in the man's throat when the tip of it re-emerged from the back of his neck, the hilt of the weapon getting jammed deeper into his flesh upon impact. There was a spurt, and flecks of red joined the other mess of stains caked onto the bottom of my ruined yukata.

A noise, something between a sob and a squeak, escaped my mouth. I scrambled backward to get away from the body, a clumsy movement that sent me sprawling on my ass in the mud.

The man—the living one—took a step towards me. He regained that same posture as before, reaching out to me with an open palm, inching closer to me at a snail's pace. Instinctively, I shied away. I wasn't afraid of him, per se, but I wasn't quite in my right mind, too worn by exhaustion for my logic to override the movement.

Not that my fear wouldn't have been unfounded—he had just murdered somebody in front of me. The hitae-ate on his forehead did the most to assuage that fear, really, as my memories made me naturally inclined to trust Konoha shinobi on sight.

"It's alright," the man murmured, speaking for the first time. "I'm not going to hurt you."

The closer he got, the younger he seemed to look—he couldn't have been far past his early twenties, if that.

"I—I know."

"Okay." Another step, another step. "Are you injured?"

"No."

"Are you alone?"

My throat constricted at the question. "Yes," I whispered.

"I see," he said. "Where are your parents?"

"I… I don't know."

"What happened?"

"We were traveling to Tsurui village… mama… I—I don't know what happened to her, but papa ran ahead with me… and he—he told me to find somebody, gave me instructions… then he was gone."

I didn't want to come out and say what we were doing there because I didn't want to have to hear him say he wasn't who I was looking for. I couldn't hear him say it, not after everything.

Then something in the man's eyes flashed, and what was left of my optimism flared with hope. "What were you doing there?" he asked.

"We were meeting somebody," I said. "Somebody who was going to take us to Konoha."

Mama and papa hadn't told me anything, but I knew something was wrong from the second I found out we were leaving our rural little village for Konohagakure. We had been happy there. We had a good life there. Anytime I tried to get information, they had refused to expand on why we were leaving. If I asked mama, she brushed me off, saying that it was nothing for me to worry about. If I asked papa, he would tell me it was a conversation better suited for when I was older.

Mama had been the first to go. I never saw any of it—all I heard was her scream. One minute, I was walking between the two of them. The next, papa had me in his arms and was running. I didn't know long we were moving for—minutes? hours?—but when the forest ended, papa too had come to a stop. He set me down and gave me a slew of frantic instructions, told me he loved me, and kissed me on the forehead. Then he turned and darted back into the forest.

I stood there, outside the treeline, for a solid minute before I turned tail and ran from the forest. I wanted to help, I wanted to do something, but I was stuck in the body of a four-year-old—there was nothing I could do except get in the way.

Throwing away their sacrifice would have been an insult to them; listening to what he told me was the only option, even if it meant leaving them behind. Even if it meant that now they were gone, and I was alone.

I was alone.

For the first time, the thought actually started to sink in and the corners of my eyes prickled with tears, my whole body clenching.

"Hey, hey," he murmured, apparently catching the reaction. "Calm down, kid. Why don't you tell me your name?"

"Kasumi," I choked out. "Kasumi Kurosawa."

"Nice to meet you, Kasumi-chan," he said, and a ghost of a smile graced his lips. "My name's Maen Nara—I think I'm the one you're looking for."


	3. Introduction: Part 3

Maen took a step into the dingy hotel room, his mission pack in one arm and a sleeping girl in the other, and let out a bone-deep sigh.

He hit the light switch by the door and the lightbulb flickered, once then twice, and kept steady at the third, partially illuminating the room—he was certain that was for the best, as he feared what he might see if the bulb were any brighter. As it was, he found himself taking in the cracked yellow walls, ominous stains that concealed cream-coloured linoleum, and bed that had a thick layer of dust coating its sheets, with growing distaste.

He had set his path for Konoha with the intent of stopping in the first village he came across, which in that case had been Ine village, a place that was about as remote and rural as the meeting place his clients had chosen. A farming village, if the fields on the way in had been any indication; it was the type of place that didn't often see visitors, which was reflected in the state of the hotel, shabby as it was.

He had managed in far worse accommodations, though, and he wasn't planning on using the room for more than a few hours. All he needed was time to formulate a plan, time to think through his situation.

The floor creaked under his feet as he moved forward, setting the girl down on the bed with care. Noting that there was nowhere else to sit—there was a chair in the corner, but it was cracked and leaning precariously to the side, in a way that made the man inclined to believe it wouldn't hold his weight—Maen shifted her further up on the bed and settled himself on the opposite end of it, bending his right leg while leaving his left stretched out, the position that was most comfortable for his still tender left hip.

"Okay," the man murmured to himself, leaning his back against the wall. "Now what?"

That was the burning question.

He was going to take the girl back to Konoha with him, that much wasn't up for debate. There wasn't anything else he could do with her—at least, nothing else he was willing to do. The easy way out would be to grab his pack and depart for Konoha, leaving her in the hotel room to fend for herself and most likely get herself killed, one way or another. Technically, there was nothing stopping him from doing so, as his mission ended the second those who needed to pay for it died. The obligation he felt to the girl was moral in nature—he had something of a weakness for pathetic lost causes, and she was a perfect fit for the label.

The only thing that gave him pause was the fact that if there were still enemy shinobi following the girl, there was a chance they'd follow him back to Konoha for the sake of getting to her; given the shinobi who attacked the girl on the road had done so in such a blatant manner, Maen wouldn't put it past them to try and penetrate Konoha's walls for the sake of getting to her. The man imagined that the Hokage wouldn't be particularly pleased if he returned with an entourage of enemy shinobi hot on his heels.

A wry smirk pulled at the man's lips.

Then again, if the enemy shinobi did follow him back, perhaps one of them could be captured and sent off to Torture and Interrogation. Enemy shinobi getting past the Fire Country borders was no small matter, and any information on where they were from and how they managed to slip into the country would be invaluable.

The girl made a noise in her sleep and Maen let his head roll against the wall to glance over at her.

She was curled in on herself, her face covered by knotted and damp auburn hair. From where he was sitting, he could detect the shake in her hands as they clenched into fists around the grimy bedsheets, gripping them so tight that her knuckles gained a white hue. Nightmares, if he were to hazard a guess.

He reached into his pack, rummaging around until his fingers brushed against cotton, and pulled out the spare shirt to drape over her in lieu of a proper blanket. He managed a scoff—he could practically hear the voices of his squad ringing in his ears, teasing him for being too soft, not that he ever bothered to deny it. There were worse things he could be.

Maen stood and stretched out his back. He hoped that the hotel had a functioning hot water tank because he needed a shower. If all went well, he wouldn't be stopping in another village until they reached Konoha, so he was going to take advantage of the bathroom while one was available to him.

He gave a brief look over his shoulder, staring at the girl, then slipped into the bathroom and let the door swing shut behind him.

* * *

We spent the day travelling in silence.

The man carried me on his back as he bounded through the trees. I spent the entire time with my face buried in his back, doing everything I could to keep my eyes dry so they wouldn't leak onto his shirt. It gave me more time to reflect than any person should ever have after losing not just one, but two people who had been important in their life.

Really, when one thought on it and had the right amount of distance, grief was a funny thing. It held no real evolutionary value. It was a hindrance, not an asset, given that it destroyed people more often than it built them up.

I didn't yet have that distance.

The wounds were still fresh, and I was still learning to ignore them.

I supposed, given how little grief I had seen in this life, it had been inevitable that when I was faced with it the universe would throw me straight into the deep end.

The early years of my life as Kasumi Kurosawa had been spent in blissful ignorance. I lived in a rural village, which was nestled between the borders of the Land of Rivers and the Land of Waves. It had always just been mama, papa, and I. No other relatives, no farmhands, no neighbours within a ten-mile radius.

It was a simple life, and I had been grateful for it.

The fact that it hadn't been my first life was a truth that sat in the back of my mind; I had vague recollections of Buddhists preaching about reincarnation during my last life, so the leap of logic that they had simply been correct didn't give me much pause. I assumed that I had been reborn into rural Japan until this body was two-years-old—that belief had been shattered when a squad of Konoha shinobi came through the village for the first time.

The memories of my old life were covered in one layer of fog from switching bodies, and then another layer due to the rampant infantile amnesia which tore apart any tentative memories it could get its hands on, but that hadn't stopped me from putting together the dots. Language barriers had prevented the truth from hitting me sooner; the visual proof was impossible for me to deny.

While the reality of my situation had given me something of a shock, it hadn't done much to alter the path I thought my life would take. Mama and papa had never expressed a desire to have another child—as far as I knew, when I was old enough they would pass the farm onto me, I would get married, I would have a family, and that was it. That was my future.

It wasn't the most ambitious life path, but it was simple and I had no reason to consider any other life for myself until two weeks prior to that day, when mama and papa had informed me that we were moving to Konoha. That should have been the first clue that I was about to get royally screwed over by the kami. I had suspected that things would change, but I had never imagined it would be so drastic.

I hadn't imagined myself to be orphaned at four-years-old.

My chest tightened and I pushed away those thoughts.

In an effort to distract myself, I skimmed my fingers over the water, watching the ripples as they spiralled out, contorting the image of the moon displayed on the river's surface.

Behind me, the man was dousing out the last smouldering embers of the fire, covering them with a thick layer of dirt. The musk of smoke, thick and warm, kept a stubborn grip on the air around us even as the last of the flames were flickering out, not that I minded much.

It was something to think about, something familiar.

My chin tipped back and I took solace in another source of comfort, the night sky, something that was unchanging no matter how far away my home was. The pearlescent glow, emanating from the misshapen circle stamped into a star-spangled sky, bathed the world around me in a light that effortlessly penetrated the darkness, chasing away the shadows that danced through the forest where the canopy blocked out the moon.

The river ran through one of the few clearings we had come across so far. The man had stopped long enough to catch a couple of fish and make a fire to cook them, as he didn't want to waste anymore time than that. I figured he also needed to rest—I had noticed how he favoured his right leg, how there was a slight limp in his step when he was walking rather than catapulting through the trees, how his hand absently drifted to his left hip when he sat down.

It was easy to notice these types of things, as I was putting all my focus on him and what he was doing to avoid tainting all of my thoughts with grief; I had relegated the darkness to a small portion of my mind, a chunk in the back of my consciousness that had been screaming since I awoke that morning.

The rest of me was numb. When I was alone, when I could deal with it, that would change.

Until then I was going to shove it all down and bottle it up and pretend it wasn't there.

* * *

Maen stood, brushing the remnants of the doton jutsu from his pants, half his attention spread watching for any approaching chakra signatures, a quarter of his attention dedicated to wiping away all traces of their presence from the area, and the last quarter spent keeping an eye on the little kid a few feet away, whose hand was still dipped in the water. He supposed he should have been paying more attention to the girl—unsupervised children and bodies of water probably weren't a good combination, when he really thought of it—but he didn't feel safe doing so, not while the dark hung over them.

That, and he didn't know what to make of the girl.

He could handle emotionally damaged adults, because that was his job, for all intents and purposes, but emotionally damaged children were a whole other can of worms that he was quickly realising he wasn't equipped to handle. The girl had only said a few token words throughout the day; the silence bemused him, not that he would give her any hint of that.

Earlier that morning, when he had told her that their destination was Konoha, she hadn't raised a single objection—she simply nodded and continued staring off into the distance. No mention of living with other relatives, no mention of looking for her parents, nothing. It was disconcerting, though he supposed, not entirely surprising, as he knew all too well the kind of damage losing one's parents could do to the mind.

That type of experience should have given him a leg up in the situation—it didn't, not in the slightest.

"Hey, kid," he said. A pair of blank violet eyes and an expression so clear it would have made an infiltration specialist jealous turned to look at him. "We should get going."

"Alright," she answered, rubbing her fingers dry on the sleeve of his navy undershirt—she had left her yukata behind in the hotel room that morning, stating that it was too dirty for her to keep wearing.

He had pretended to believe that there wasn't more to it.

The man bent down, giving her a chance to hop up onto his back. She did so, and he noted with some amount of amusement that she made a point of leaning on his right side more than his left. He was grateful that she did, even if he was taken aback that she had picked up on the injury. Though, which how much it was beginning to pain him, he was struggling to hide it as well as he would have liked.

He may have been more worried about the flare ups of pain if not for the fact that Konoha was a mere five hours travel from their location. They were close.

He could only hope that once they got there, things would work out well for them both—him, not getting reamed out by the Hokage, and her, finding a bit of peace amid her shitty circumstances.


	4. Introduction: Part 4

I lay my palm flat against the window and peered at the expansive metropolis that was Konoha.

The village was massive.

The population had to be somewhere nearing a million people. There were dozens upon dozens of districts and neighbourhoods, all of which were connected through a labyrinth of streets that bustled with life and activity, a flurry of people ready to greet you each time you turned a corner. There was some amount of culture shock, I supposed, that could have been inflating my perception due to how drastically different Konoha was from anything I had ever experienced, but I also knew that I was gazing upon what was arguably the largest single collection of people on the continent. There was a reason so many people flocked from all corners of the world to visit the place, aside from the fact that out of all the shinobi villages open to civilians you were the least likely to get stabbed in Konoha.

I couldn't help but think that mama and papa would have liked it. Mama had always complained that Kiso was too plain and boring for her tastes—in good nature, I knew, and I often found that I had agreed with her, though in my case both of those things contributed to the innate serenity which I loved Kiso for.

A bitter taste tainted my mouth.

I let my hand fall down to my side, blinking, taking in one last look at the view before I wandered back down the hall to where to my seat was.

* * *

"Hokage-sama," Maen said as he entered the office, giving the man behind the desk a low bow.

Hiruzen let out a sigh and shuffled around a few papers. "Maen-kun. I take it that the mission did not go well?"

"The mission didn't actually start, as my clients were dead by the time I found them," Maen replied.

"Oh?"

"I believe they were killed by enemy shinobi."

Hiruzen's expression hardened and his gaze dropped down to the page that had been delivered to him mere minutes ago. "I see. Would you happen to know anything about the intruders we have had on the perimeters of the village, then?"

Maen took the report offered to him, scanning the sheet, his eyebrow steadily receding into his hairline as he went. "I honestly didn't think he was that close behind me."

"I received that report from Cat and Wolf about three minutes before you entered my office," Hiruzen said, motioning to it with his pipe. "It seems that their appearance scared the shinobi off, though they are uncertain whether or not the enemy remains in the forest. They claim he simply disappeared into thin air."

"It's the technique," Maen murmured, his eyes still on the page. "I thought it might be a genjutsu but he kept using it to throw me off his location on the way back to Konoha, and he was doing it from too far away for that to be it. I've never seen anything like it. I had a brief engagement with them before I—ah—became otherwise indisposed."

"Did your injury worsen?"

Maen scratched the back of his neck. "A little, but there was something else."

"Ah—so you are referring to the stray that you brought home, then?" Hiruzen asked.

Maen felt a rush of relief when he noted there was amusement shining in Hiruzen's eyes rather than annoyance. He didn't question how Hiruzen knew about the girl; his first guess was the ANBU who were stationed at the gates had alerted him, though the two chunin posted there were also a relatively safe bet given how fast they could spread gossip.

"Hai, Hokage-sama."

"Who is she?"

"The daughter of the clients. She's… traumatized. She doesn't know what happened, but she didn't seem to question that her parents were dead, and when I told her I was bringing her back to Konoha she didn't try and stop me—I'm not sure she has any other family out there. Even if she does, though, I thought it safer for both of us to figure it out inside of the village walls, rather than out in the field while there were still enemy shinobi on her trail."

The older man shook his head, but there was a smile on his face. "As I see the line of thought, and there is no actual procedure regarding a situation like this, I don't feel I can fully fault you for your actions," he said. "However, I hope you are prepared to take responsibility for your choice on this mission."

Maen bit back a sigh, having already prepared himself mentally for whatever punishment was about to be doled out. "I am."

"Good." Hiruzen waved a hand behind him and an ANBU operative materialised at his shoulder. Maen nodded to the man and got one in return. "Would you get Shikaku Nara for me, please? There is something I must discuss with him, tell him it is urgent. He should be in his office."

"Hai, Hokage-sama," the man in the gecko mask said.

There was a puff of smoke and the shinobi was gone.

"You think the situation is urgent?" Maen asked.

"No," Hiruzen answered, "but I'd rather not wait ten minutes for him to get here in his own time."

* * *

I looked up from my hands when I heard slow, shuffling footsteps coming down the hallway.

There was a man coming down the hallway. Something about him was familiar, but I couldn't quite place my finger on it, aside from jet-black ponytail that stood straight up in a fan of spikes at the back of his head and instantly identified him as a Nara. The way that he had his hands shoved in his pockets and hunched his shoulders aided in that; everything about his demeanour made me think he would have rather been out napping in the shade.

As he moved past he gave me a sideways glance, something of a smirk sending his lips twitching upwards—his mouth drooped back down though when I gave no outward reaction to him except a stare.

He paused for a second as if to say something but thought better of it and kept going. When he reached the door he didn't even bother to lift his hands out of his pockets to open it, instead simply pushing it open with his shoulder and stepping inside, leaving me with an empty hallway once again.

* * *

The door swung open, followed by the distinctive footsteps that Maen easily recognised as belonging to his cousin.

"Hokage-sama."

Out of the corner of his eye, Maen saw as Shikaku bowed.

"Shikaku-kun," Hiruzen greeted, steepling his fingers together on his desk in front of him.

"Is there something I can do for you?"

"Perhaps."

At the vague answer, Shikaku tilted his head. "Does it have anything to do with the little kid in the hallway?"

"Perhaps."

Shikaku let out a sigh. "Maen, what did you do?"

"The kid lost both her parents and had somebody after her head, I couldn't just leave her."

"Of course you could have, you just didn't want to."

"You would have done the same."

"Oh, probably."

Hiruzen cleared his throat and both men turned back to look at him. "Regardless," he said, giving them both an unimpressed look, "something must be done with the girl."

"Is there any reason she can't go to the orphanage?" Shikaku asked.

"There are currently unknown shinobi forces who may be waiting to make a move towards her," Hiruzen said. "It would endanger every other child at the orphanage if we put her there before the threat has been cleared."

Shikaku spared his cousin another glance, one which promised there would be a lengthy discussion between them in the near future. "Why not post an ANBU watch on her?" he asked. "I doubt one shinobi can get past the village walls and a competent ANBU guard."

"I intend to," Hiruzen said, his lips quirking into a smile. "Though not quite in the way you are imagining, I think."

At that, Maen slotted together the pieces. "You want me to watch her?"

"You brought her back," the man pointed out. "I believe it is only fair that you are the one to ensure that she is safe while a proper housing situation is worked out for her."

"Hokage-sama, with all due respect," Maen said, fighting to keep his expression neutral, "that's not a very good idea."

"Why?" Shikaku asked. "You do just fine with Shikamaru-chan."

"Who will sleep for the entire day if nobody bothers him for anything. Anybody could do just fine with Shikamaru-chan."

Shikaku let out a snort. "I wouldn't let Yoshino hear you say that."

"You are also the only person in the village with whom she is familiar with," Hiruzen added. "As you said, she is traumatised. Having a face that she knows will make the adjustment less of a blow to her mental state."

"I'm still not sure—"

"I think it'll be good for you," Shikaku murmured, cutting him off.

Maen stiffened, a scowl slipping onto his face. Shikaku answered the look with a raised eyebrow and a one-shouldered shrug.

"So you have no opposition to her being in the clan compound for the next two weeks, Shikaku-kun?" Hiruzen asked.

"I suppose not," Shikaku said. He scratched his chin, taking a second to think. "I mean, even if one of them does manage to get into the village, they'll hop the wall—then they'd have to make it through the compound's forest alive. Even then, it seems highly unlikely they'll do much aside from deal with the kid and then get out again."

"Good." Hiruzen grabbed a sheet of paper and scribbled something on it, setting it aside near the corner of his desk when he finished. "I doubt that they will be foolish enough to try and get to the girl, as she is technically under the protection of the village for as long as she is within our walls. As it is impossible to completely rule out the possibility, however, this will be a B-rank mission for you Maen-kun."

By that point, Maen had resigned himself to the fact that that was not a request but an order—taking responsibility for his actions, indeed. He supposed being paid for it was something of a consolation, not that he needed the extra money. The man sighed but didn't bother to raise another argument. "Hai, Hokage-sama."

"Give it two weeks," Hiruzen said. "By then, appropriate living arrangements will have been made, and the enemy shinobi would have long departed. However, should one of them make an attempt, I would like for the shinobi to be left alive and in a state which is suited to interrogation."

"Hai, Hokage-sama."

Hiruzen gave Maen a faint smile. "I expect a full written report from you in a few days, despite the fact that the mission was not technically completed—ensure that your encounter with the enemy shinobi is as detailed as possible," he said. He tipped his head, the fabric of his hat pooling over his shoulders. "And check in at the hospital before returning home. You will have two weeks added to your recovery period to account for this mission, do make use of it to heal properly this time around."

* * *

"It's not much, but it's only for a couple of weeks."

My gaze drifted around the room. It was minimalistic; the bed was tucked into the corner of the room with plain white sheets stretched across the mattress and a single pillow fluffed up against the headboard, a nightstand beside it, and the only window in the room sitting just above both. The rest of the room—which was the vast majority of it—was barren of any furniture or personal touches.

I nodded, not bothered. "Yeah. Thanks."

"I can take you into the village tomorrow and get you some actual clothes, but it's starting to get late, so you'll have to make do with a shirt of mine for tonight."

"That's alright."

"Dinner will be in a couple of hours," Maen said, moving back towards the door. "Bathroom's down the hall. I'll be in the living room dealing with mission stuff."

"Okay."

The man's eyes lingered on me and he paused in the doorway.

I didn't spare him another glance—I wanted him to leave. I needed him to leave.

I shuffled over to the bed and sat down on it, turning my back to him to stare out the window instead. His gaze burned against the nape of my neck. I heard him mutter something indistinguishable and the door was opened, the soft click of the door falling shut marking his departure.

Ears perked, I listened as his footsteps padded down the hall and away from the room. It was only once I was sure that he wasn't within earshot that I finally collapsed in on myself, curling into a ball on top of the bedspread and letting the tears fall from my eyes. All of the stress, grief, and fear from the previous four days crashed down on me at once, tightening in my chest and clogging my throat, settling in my body with enough weight to smother me.

Sobs racked my body—vicious, angry sobs, that made my hands quiver and my breathing laboured. The tears seemed endless. Every time it felt like they were beginning to ebb away, images of mama and papa and Kiso would pop up in my mind and the anguish would wash back over me, pulling me in again like a tide rolling back out to sea.

It hurt. There was a real, physical ache that settled in my bones. I wanted to just push it all away instead of dealing with it, to ignore everything that happened, to take the easy route.

These emotions had to be dealt with though, I knew that. The longer I let those thoughts fester the larger the darkness would grow. The situation I had been thrust into, the world I was being forced to inhabit, they required me to have clear thoughts that weren't possible while I was still consumed by my past.

I had lost my home, my family, and my future. They were gone and there was nothing I could do to get them back, there was no getting around that fact. The sooner I dealt with that reality the sooner I could work towards building something else for myself.

The universe had knocked me down, but I would be damned if I let it keep me there.

* * *

Maen could hear her.

The walls of his apartment were thin, he had always preferred it that way, but as a result, the sound of the girl crying was seeping out from the guestroom and filling the otherwise silent living room where he sat.

His first instinct was to flip on the radio and drown it out. Some would call that apathetic—he thought pragmatic was a better word for it. He felt for the kid, he honestly did. He wanted to help, but there wasn't anything he could do except give her a couple of awkward pats on the head and a few useless words of pity, nothing that he thought the kid would appreciate.

It wasn't as if he hadn't already helped her. He saved her life and brought her back to Konoha; she was crying in his guest room, wearing one of his shirts. Hell, he was going to take her shopping tomorrow on his own dime.

With each minute that ticked by, though, the knot in his stomach grew tighter.

After half an hour Maen couldn't take it. He stood up and discarded the pages he had been scrawling on, making his way into the kitchen and flicking on the kettle.

* * *

The sound of somebody knocking at the bedroom door sent a jolt through my system.

I sat up, startled, my hands clenching around the bedsheets and my cries dying in my throat.

There was a sigh. After a couple of seconds, a light clatter drifted underneath the door, followed by footsteps moving down the hallway.

As much as my body protested the movement my curiosity got the better of me and I swung my legs over the side of the bed, drifting across the room to the door. I pulled it open and my eyes fell to the floor, where a steaming cup of tea sat abandoned. I poked my head around the corner and could see the man sitting on his couch, cross-legged on the cushion with his eyes pointedly downcast to stare at whatever was in his lap.

The earthen scent of green tea, with a slightly honeyed edge, drifted upwards.

The barest hints of a smile pulled at my lips. I bent down and picked up the cup, the warmth of the liquid seeping through the ceramic and sending tingles of comfort racing through me.

I looked to the bed, to the cup, and back up to the silhouette of the man down the hall. I stepped forward and pulled the door shut behind me.

Maen's eyes flicked up to watch me as I entered the living room.

I settled down on his other couch, taking care to avoid stepping on any of the sheets of paper that were scattered around the floor. A single brow went up. I met his gaze for a moment and quickly dropped it to stare at the green liquid.

"Thanks," I murmured.

The man blinked. Then, his chin dipped in a nod, and he went back to his work.

* * *

He watched her out of the corner of his eye.

Her eyes were still puffy, her cheeks were still flushed a vibrant red, and when she had spoken her voice had been hoarse from crying, but some of the weight seemed to have lifted from her shoulders and her eyes had a spark of life in them.

The knot in his stomach eased, replaced by something warm and light. His lips twitched up in a smirk—perhaps he wasn't quite as incapable of helping her as he had thought.


	5. Introduction: Part 5

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it—a deer.

I shifted, angling my torso to get a better look at it as it took a couple of steps past the tree-line, sending the blanket that was draped over my shoulders cascading to the ground.

It's head poked out from the forest, nose in the air to sniff whatever scent the wind carried its way. It hesitated for a second before it broke through the tree-line and stepped into the clearing.

Another one followed, then a third, a fourth, a fifth.

A soft breath slipped past my lips. I knew that there were deer in the Nara forest, had heard about them previously, but in all the days I spent perched on that window sill in the bedroom, staring off into the expanse of the compound, I hadn't yet seen them.

Their movements were tentative and their heads were all held high, as if they were watching out for something. Two of them appeared to be doe, with their smooth heads and wispy tails, while the other three were all fawn, tottering behind their mothers on unstable limbs.

I pushed the window open a bit further to get a better look. The evening air, chilled by a day filled with rain, swept across the room and sent goosebumps dancing up along the skin of my arms; I wasn't bothered by it, so enraptured by the herd of deer munching on grass a few hundred yards away that I didn't even noticed the shift in temperature.

The scene was picturesque, almost to the point of absurdity.

The sprawling forest behind the deer was lush from the coming of spring. The day was drawing to a close and as the sun sunk below the horizon the sky had become enveloped in a shroud of purple and orange. At the hooves of the deer were clumps of meadow flowers, spanning all the colours of the rainbow.

I shoved the window open the rest of the way. In a single movement, I tossed my legs over the edge of the window frame and hopped off onto the ground, a minor jump as Maen's apartment was situated on the ground floor of the building.

One of the doe lifted her head to stare at me as I inched my way across the grass.

The deer from the forest appeared to be docile, presumably from having a significant amount of exposure to humans, which removed any worries I had of them outright attacking me, but I assumed that they retained their skittish tendencies and I approached them with that in mind. My movements were slow, coming to a stop in between each step. I held my shoulders back and forced the muscles in them to relax. One of my hands was held out in front of me, outstretched, while the other hung limp at my side.

By the time I was halfway there, both of the doe were watching me while the fawn continued to graze behind them. One of them took a couple of steps in my direction, bobbing her head up and down.

I stood still but left my hand extended in the air, my head tilting to the side.

I was certain that the gesture meant something. The action was deliberate—what it meant, though, I didn't have a damn clue. I hadn't even seen a deer prior to that day, nevermind learnt anything about their body language.

After a second the deer raised her head again and held it there, swishing her tail back and forth; she plodded forward and one of the fawn followed behind her. I got the distinct sense that somehow she had been testing me and from the way she was approaching, letting her fawn trail her dutifully, I must have passed.

My lips pulled into a small, victorious smile, an unnamable warmth blossoming in my chest.

I took a few more steps, the wet grass tickling the soles of my bare feet.

When I was a few feet away from the deer I came to a halt and let her cover the rest of the ground. The doe pressed her nose up against my hand and inspected it, her breath puffing out onto my palm. She nudged my hand and let out a snort. She moved closer, dipping her head down to my hip, her snout sneaking into my pocket and her ears brushing up against my elbow.

A startled laugh bubbled out of me and I placed a hand on her head, the fur short but smooth against my fingers.

After giving my shorts a thorough search the doe pulled her head back to stare at me.

"She's looking for treats."

I jumped, spinning to face the source of the noise and scrambling back in alarm, my heart jumping into my throat.

Shikaku gave me a smile and held out his hand to display a palmful of pellets. His posture was friendly, almost sheepish, something of a non-verbal apology for scaring me, but his eyes caught my attention—there was a calculating edge in those dark brown orbs that erased any chance he had startled me unintentionally. His gaze wasn't cold or unkind; he seemed to be prodding me out of mere curiosity, like I was an interesting puzzle that he was trying to solve.

"Oh," I murmured.

"I always come out here 'round this time," the man said. "They probably thought you were with me."

I turned to look at the doe who, along with her fawn, had moved a few feet away and was watching the two of us, my reaction having spooked her. I bit my lip. "Can I, uh… can I give some to them?"

"Hold out your hand," he said. I did as he requested and the man tipped some of the pellets into my chubby fist. Shikaku jerked his head in the direction of the deer, his hand moving to one of the pouches around his waist where he deposited the rest of the pellets. "Go on. Just move slowly like you were, they'll come back to you."

I stooped down and held the treats out in their direction. The doe hesitated, bobbing her head at me again, but the fawn had no such reservations and immediately skipped past its mother to nibble at the treats, its lips brushing up against the skin of my hand. A smile once again took over my face, an airy giggle escaping me.

It was a moment of comfort.

It was the first time since mama and papa died, since I had walked through the gates of Konoha, that I felt genuinely happy.

.

.

Maen let the minor cloaking genjutsu drop from around him and gave Shikaku a short nod as the man approached.

"Have you considered having your old genin teammate give the kid a look?" Shikaku asked, not bothering with any preamble.

Maen's eyes moved to the girl. She was running her hand along the fawn's back, letting it take the treats from her palm. His mind flashed back to the genuine fear in her eyes when Shikaku snuck up on her, the way her meagre chakra signature had spiked in panic, and he let out a sigh.

"You think that's really necessary?" he countered.

Shikaku shrugged. "That's not a normal reaction to being startled and you know it. She's still having nightmares too, right?"

"Yeah," Maen said. He rubbed a hand over his face, knowing that the bags present under his eyes could attest to that. "They've gotten better over the last couple of nights, but I doubt they're going to go away anytime soon. She's only been here a week; I'd have been more surprised if she wasn't still working through what happened."

"Having both your parents killed and then being shoved into an unfamiliar environment isn't the type of mental trauma a kid her age can work through on their own."

"I know."

Shikaku quirked an eyebrow. "So?"

With a sigh Maen crossed his arms over his chest, his lips twisting into a scowl. "I'm not sure there's any point," he said. "Even if Inohara did agree to give the kid some therapy—and thats a big if, she's got a bunch of clients as is—there's no telling whether the kid would be able to keep it up after the mission ends."

"If you mention it, Hokage-sama might be able to work something out."

"Not if she goes to the orphanage," Maen countered.

"Well then make sure she doesn't go to the orphanage."

"That's not up to me, you know that."

"It could be."

Maen turned his head in to look at his cousin, his eyes narrowing. "You can't seriously be saying what I think you're saying."

Shikaku's infuriating smirk didn't waver. "The kid doesn't mind you," he pointed out. "It's like Hokage-sama said, she's familiar with you."

"She hasn't exactly had much of a choice in the matter."

"You even said she's been improving already," Shikaku said, undeterred, as if Maen hadn't even spoken. "You think she's going to keep that up in the orphanage, where she's just one kid out of a couple hundred?"

They both knew the answer to that.

"It doesn't matter. I can't take care of a child, Shikaku."

"Not with that attitude you can't."

"I don't even like kids."

"Neither did I, but I still gave you a chance and I think you turned out pretty all right."

Maen shook his head, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a cigarette. He put the bud of it between his lips and snapped his fingers together, adding enough chakra to make a flickering flame spark to life, igniting the end of the cigarette. He took a drag of it and blew it out again. Shikaku watched him, letting his words hang in the air.

"That was different," Maen finally said.

"Was it?"

"I was ten years old and already on my way to being a genin. She's four. If I take her on, I won't just be keeping an eye on her to make sure she doesn't do anything stupid, I'll be raising her."

"Trust me, as a man with a four-year-old son, I can say with certainty that the two things aren't all that different."

Maen scoffed. "I'm barely ever home and I don't know the first thing about raising a kid."

"Yoshino can help with both of those."

Maen let his head fall back against the tree, a low chuckle leaving his lips. "You already talked to your wife about this, then."

"She thinks it's a good idea."

"It's not," Maen countered, a wisp of smoke tainting his words. "You two just have too much faith in me."

"No, you just don't have enough faith in yourself," Shikaku answered and punctuated his words with a flick to the side of Maen's head. "I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't think you were capable of doing it."

"Just because you think you're right doesn't mean that you are."

"My track record would beg to differ."

Maen shoved his hands in his pockets, choosing to not deign that statement with a response.

He wasn't lying—he really didn't like kids.

They were loud and gross, always yelling about something and always running around with sticky fingers, with the exception of his adorable nephew who he had developed a soft spot for. Yet, somehow, he didn't find himself actively disliking the kid; he supposed it probably helped that he could see bits of himself in her. That and she, like his nephew, was neither loud nor gross, though he wasn't sure how much of that was her personality and how much of it was due to everything that had happened to her.

"I'm not saying I'm agreeing to this," Maen said. "But even if I did, how do you know the kid would be on board for it too?"

As if on cue, the kid turned to look in their direction and she blinked, noticing Maen for the first time. Her lips tipped up into a lopsided smile and she gave him a little wave.

He thought she had a cute smile.

"I don't think that'll be an issue," Shikaku answered, pulling Maen's attention back over to him.

"You can be a real cocky son of a bitch, you know that?"

"I'm not being cocky if I'm actually right." Shikaku turned on his heel and gave a short wave over his shoulder, heading in the direction of his home. "Yoshino said to drop by around noon tomorrow so the kids can have a playdate."

"Do I get a choice?"

"Nope."

Maen pulled the cigarette from his mouth and blew out a gust of smoke, his shoulders sagging into a slouch.

He didn't think his reservations were unfounded.

He was barely able to take care of himself on most days and he didn't think throwing a little kid into the mix would help that any. It wasn't fair to the girl if he took her in without actually being able to care for her. She needed stability in her life, something he wasn't sure he could provide her with. Though, when he thought of it, he could recognise that the orphanage, the place she was most likely to end up, wouldn't give her that either.

He dropped the cigarette onto the grass and stamped it out.

The kid had settled down on the ground, her legs crossed under her, and was observing the deer as they interacted with each other. He was tempted to drag her back inside so he could finish the work he was doing but found that he didn't have it in him—watching her with the deer had was the first time he'd ever seen the kid happy.

He couldn't pull her from that, not yet.

Besides, it was a valid excuse to put off finishing his work—who was he to pass that up?

* * *

Maen prodded me between the shoulder blades, giving me a gentle push towards the house. I turned my head to look at him, frowning, but this only seemed to amuse him as the tips of his lips twisted into a smirk that I swore was passed genetically through the Nara.

I tugged off my shoes and tossed them onto the mat that sat on the porch, shifting them so they were neatly lined up as an afterthought when I felt Maen's gaze burning against the nape of my neck.

Maen reached over my head to pull the slider open. The sounds of food sizzling in a pan drifted out of the house, bringing with it the smell of freshly fried rice and fish.

"Yoshino," Maen called.

"Oh!" a voice cried from in the house. "Come in, come in. I'll go grab you some slippers from the front door!"

Maen stepped past the threshold and I followed him.

Admittedly, I was nervous.

While the lack of scarring on Shikaku's face had been enough to throw me off of recognising him at first glance, the second I heard his name his identity had clicked in my mind. It was the first time I had begun to get an inclination as to when I had been born in regards to the timeline—given that I was about to have a 'play date' with Shikamaru, it was safe to say that I was at least near, if not the same age as the boy.

Some may have been excited to know that they'd get to experience the story first hand, but I was too busy shitting my pants for that.

Being the same age as Shikamaru meant being the same age as Naruto, and that meant there was a war in my future. Had I been able to live my life out in Kiso, I would have never been touched by the war—living in Konoha entailed the exact opposite. When everything went to hell I was going to be right in the eye of the storm. While I had never previously considered training to become a shinobi, as the whole business of killing for a living sounded rather distasteful, the thought of being defenceless in the face of danger wasn't particularly appealing either. A loss of my morals was a small price to pay to avoid the loss of my life.

It wasn't a decision I was agonising over, though. There wasn't much point in doing so until I had a better idea of where I was going to end up. For all I knew, I could be shoved in with a family of civilians who were staunchly anti-shinobi and have that door slammed in my face.

A woman with a mane of chocolate brown hair bustled down the hall, half of it gathered into a bun at the back of her head while the rest of it flew out behind her. There was a stained apron pulled over her torso and the hints of a bright pink sundress were peeking out from behind it. She looked every bit the beautiful, delicate, well-bred woman that most traditional men sought as a wife.

She set a pair of light pink slippers down in front of me and smacked Maen upside the head with the other, shattering that image with ease.

To his credit, the man took it without so much as flinching.

"Why is this the first time I'm meeting her?" the woman demanded. "She's been staying with you for an entire week and you've been hoarding her in your house?"

"Mah, Yoshino, come on."

"That's not an answer."

"It's complicated," he said. "I'm sure Shikaku's told you the short of it, at least."

She rolled her eyes. Her gaze hit me and everything in her demeanour softened once again, shifting from hell-bent demon to nurturing mother in a heartbeat. "Oh, dear, it's lovely to meet you."

"Hello," I murmured.

Maen nudged my foot with his. "C'mon, kiddo. Introduce yourself."

"I'm Kasumi."

Yoshino, for her part, looked thrilled. "Hi there Kasumi-chan," she said and gave me a warm smile. "I'm Yoshino. I'll show you where Shikamaru is, and you two can play while I prepare some snacks. Maen, go in the kitchen and make sure the food isn't burning."

"Yes, ma'am."

"That's a good boy."

Maen snorted at the comment but did as he was asked.

Yoshino led me through to what looked like the living room where there was a nappy little thing was sleeping on the couch, curled in on himself and snoring lightly, who could only be Shikamaru. The woman took half of a second to coo before she tipped the couch forward, dumping the boy off of it.

Shikamaru landed on the laminate floors with a thud so loud that it had me wincing. He gave a light snore and turned over onto his side, unfazed, much to Yoshino's dismay.

"Shikamaru Nara!" she snapped.

That woke him up.

He jolted, sitting up immediately and giving the woman a deer-in-the-headlights look. "What?"

"I told you we were having guests over, why were you sleeping?"

"'Cause I'm tired, kaa-chan."

At least the kid was honest—from the look on his mother's face, though, that wasn't going to earn him too many points in her books. I expected her to yell at him, but she merely rolled her eyes skyward and said, "You can sleep later. Come over here and introduce yourself!"

The boy meandered over and gave a languid wave. "I'm Shikamaru."

"I'm Kasumi."

Yoshino clapped her hands together. "Good! I'm going to go finish the snacks—you two have fun!"

"Yeah, yeah," Shikamaru answered, a jaw-cracking yawn following the words.

I could see the reprimand on the tip of her tongue. I grabbed the boy by the wrist and dragged him over to the shogi board, nipping that in the bud. He didn't bother resisting.

Yoshino muttered something to herself but took her leave after that. I waited until her footsteps had dropped off before turning back to him, taking in his glazed eyes and drool-stained shirt.

"You can go back to sleep if you want," I said.

He blinked. "You don't care?"

"Not really," I answered.

If the kid was as tired as he looked, the last thing I wanted to do was deal with him; I had learnt from experience that even the nicest kids could turn into complete monsters when starved of sleep.

"Can we go up to my room? Sleeping on my bed is way more comfortable than sleeping on the couch."

"Sure."

.

.

"She seems nice," Yoshino said as she breezed into the kitchen.

Maen shrugged, stirring the rice with a wooden spoon, the heat of the pan licking the skin of his fingers. "She's a good kid."

"Any reason she's so hesitant to speak around adults?" she asked, taking the spoon from him and scooping out a chunk of rice to hold under her nose for inspection. Without turning to look she made a flapping motion with her hand to shoo him away.

"No clue," he answered and settled down at the kitchen table. "I've just kind of assumed it's a coping mechanism for her."

Yoshino hummed. "Odd. I barely got a peep out of her, but as soon as I left the room she was talking to Shikamaru no problem."

"Is that so?" Maen asked, eyebrow raised. "I only started getting more than basic 'yes' and 'no' answers from her a couple of days ago."

With a flick of the wrist, Yoshino turned off the burner and moved the pan over onto the other side of the stove. She reached up and grabbed a lid, placing it over the rice, steam rising up and clouding the glass almost immediately. "Well, she is from rural Fire Country," she said. "It might just be how she was raised to behave, all formal around adults—those people can be as strict as the Hyuuga when it comes to manners."

"Maybe, but she's not really all that polite—she's just quiet."

"She seemed pretty polite."

"Didn't Shikaku tell you that she stared him down the first time she saw him?"

"Really?" she asked. When Maen nodded, she let out a chuckle. "Man, I would have loved to see that."

"It's hard to pin down her personality or mannerisms right now," he said. "I'd say she needs another few weeks before she'll be back in a state of mind where those come out."

Yoshino grinned. "You make it sound like you plan on being there when that happens."

He gave her a flat look. "I know what you're getting at, and I can't do it, Yoshino."

The woman reached over, smacking him upside the head with the handle of the spoon before he could dodge. "Don't get prickly with me, Maen."

"I wasn't," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his head—somehow, retiring from active duty and having a baby served to sharpen Yoshino's reflexes rather than dampen them.

She just rolled her eyes. "You can't distract me with your attitude—why can't you take her?"

"I'm never home and I don't know how to raise a kid," he said, the same answer he had given Shikaku.

"And I'm offering to help with both of those," she said. "I can watch her when you're on missions or if she gets on your nerves—because she will, I don't care how quiet she is now—and I can give you advice for anything you're unsure about. You won't be raising her completely on your own."

"What if I said I won't take her?"

"Then I'd say your lying."

"Why are you and Shikaku so sure I even like this kid?"

"Liking her isn't the point—it's that you empathise with her. You look in that kid's eye and you see yourself. That's the point," she said, jabbing a finger at him. Her lips twisted into a smirk that strongly resembled the one her husband wore when he knew he was right. "Though again, I'd have to say you're lying, 'cause the expression on your face when you were looking at her would beg to differ."

Maen heaved a sigh of resignation—she'd nailed it. He wasn't surprised. She may not have been born a Nara, but to marry one and keep up, she had to be intelligent in her own right. "Does Shikaku ever win your fights?"

"That question implies that my husband ever bothers trying to fight with me, which he doesn't."

"Right. Of course."

Yoshino turned back to the counter, pressing the fried rice and fish into little balls then wrapping them in a layer of seaweed. She split them among three plates as she finished them, bringing one over and placing it in front of him, the other staying in her hand as she walked to the kitchen entrance. She paused in the doorway. When she turned back to face him, her lips were pursed.

"Shikaku took a chance on you when you needed it most," she said. "He didn't think he could do it either. Just… imagine what would have happened to you if he had let his doubts get in the way."

With that, she turned and left him to his thoughts.

* * *

Maen stared at the door of the Hokage's office, contemplating slamming his head against it and putting himself out of his misery. He raised his fist and knocked instead.

"Come in."

He let out a breath and pulled it open, striding forward to stand in front of the desk, bowing to the man behind it. "Hokage-sama."

"Maen-kun," the man greeted, his usual grandfatherly smile on his face. "I was not expecting to see you before your debriefing tomorrow."

"Yeah, about that, sir," Maen started and rubbed the back of his neck nervously, forcing the tension out of his shoulders.

"There have been no problems, I hope?"

"No, sir."

"Good. What is it, then?"

Maen took a deep breath. "I would like to take her on as my ward—Kasumi, I mean."

Hiruzen chuckled, placing his pipe in the corner of his mouth. "Ah, I see. That shouldn't be a problem. I will have word sent to the Children's Welfare Council and the orphanage; it may take a few days for them to approve the request, but it will be done."

That wasn't the response he had been expecting. He hadn't thought Hiruzen would outright deny the request, but he also hadn't expected the man to grant it without a second thought.

"You don't seem surprised," Maen noted, the words leaving his mouth slowly, dragged down by uncertainty.

"No, I am not," Hiruzen confirmed. "Shikaku-kun came to speak with me regarding this matter a little over a week ago. He wished to ensure that it would be a possibility before he made mention of it to you."

"Of course he did," Maen muttered.

"He thought that the arrangement would be beneficial to you," Hiruzen said, his voice betraying his amusement. "I must say that I do agree with him."

"You both say that like I'm not doing well already."

Hiruzen gave him a contemplative look, his eyes roving over Maen's face and then down to the man's still injured hip. Maen fought to not fidget under the scrutiny.

"I will give you another week off of the active roster so that you and the girl may have a chance to settle in," Hiruzen said, pointedly not responding to the comment. "Have you talked to her about it?"

Maen chose not to dwell on that. "Not yet," he answered. "I didn't want to until I knew for certain."

"Understandable. Go, discuss this with her—I doubt she will have complaints." Hiruzen shuffled some papers around on his desk, scanning each of them until he found what he was searching for. "Take a look at this before you go, though. I was going to have these sent to you this evening but as you are here, I see no reason to not give them to you now."

Maen took it and read it over—it was a report from the ANBU patrols in Konoha's forest. "No activity, then?"

"None after the first day," Hiruzen said. "It appears whoever followed her did not wish to challenge Konoha for her."

Maen wasn't surprised. To pass the borders of Fire Country illegally was one thing, but to break into one of the five great hidden villages? There were few things in the world worth going to that much trouble for and a single child, no matter what her parents might have done or who they might have been, was not one of them.

"Has there been any information on who they are?"

"Sadly, no. All that can be concluded so far is that it is unlikely they are affiliated with any village."

Maen nodded. "We'd know about them if they were village affiliated."

Konoha's information networks were too effective to miss something like that. Given more than one shinobi had used that the same technique, that odd form of cloaking, it wasn't a stretch to assume it was a clan technique, much like his own shadow abilities—in that case, it was even more unlikely that it would have been missed.

Missing one person developing a jutsu like that was a possibility, but missing an entire clan was not.

"Indeed."

"They must be mercenaries, though, to be supporting themselves if they aren't with a village," he murmured, thinking aloud.

"You haven't considered that they are gaining money by civilian means?"

"No," he answered, "they wouldn't need to. They've got a technique that seems like it's practically designed for assignations and heists, and both of those are too profitable to pass up."

"Fair enough," Hiruzen said. He took back the sheet that Maen handed to him. "There will likely be a minor investigation on the matter, as some of the shinobi in the Intelligence Division showed an interest in pursuing it further. I'm certain that any insight you can offer to them would be highly appreciated."

"I'll see what I can do," he said.

"Thank you." Hiruzen placed the sheet among a stack of others, then shifted his chair back and rifled through one of the drawers of his desk. He resurfaced with a neatly stapled package of papers that he held out to Maen. "These are the forms you'll need to fill out to make your guardianship over the girl legal."

Maen takes them, giving them a half glance. "Thank you, Hokage-sama."

The older man nodded. "If I do not see you again this evening, I will assume that all has gone well and move forward with informing the Council and the orphanage of the change in plans. Once you have the forms filled out, it would be best if you return them to the Council directly."

"Understood, Hokage-sama."

The man gave Maen another one of his smiles. "Best of luck, Maen-kun."

.

.

A knock on the door caught my attention. I dragged my eyes away from the clouds that were rolling through the sky and settled them on the door.

"Hey, kid," Maen said, opening the door and walking in. "Got a minute?"

"Uh huh."

He had a small frown on his face, his shoulders tense and his hands shoved deep in his pockets. There was a nervous energy jittering around him—well, that made two of us.

It was my last day with Maen; my first two weeks in Konoha had come and gone. It felt like an eternity had passed since I walked through those gates, but at the same time, it was also as if the days had been condensed into the blink of an eye. It was an odd contradiction that I couldn't quite wrap my head around.

Regardless, I knew that when I went to sleep the following evening, I would be doing so under a different roof, in an entirely different part of town, with unfamiliar faces watching over me.

I wasn't thrilled.

I hadn't expected to come to like Maen, but it had still happened.

The man was an awkward duck emotionally, without a doubt, but he was kind in his own way and he had made an effort to help me through the last couple of weeks, be it by bringing me tea when I was upset or redirecting the questions of nosy villagers with narrowed eyes and sharp comments.

He didn't force me into any conversations. He didn't complain that I was keeping him up at night with my nightmares, because I knew I was, as the bags under his eyes were a clear indication that he had not been sleeping properly over the last two weeks, and if the walls were thin enough to pass on my cries during the day they certainly were capable of doing so at night as well. He didn't comment when I sat on the window ledge for hours on end, opting to simply leave meals outside the door and let me eat them in my own time, in peace.

He simply let me be. I was certain that it was due, at least in part, to his lack of ability to interact with me rather than any type of respect for my privacy, but I was grateful for the space nonetheless.

I turned so that one of my legs was dangling off of the sill, my upper body facing him to watch as he shuffled into the room and settled down on the comforter of the bed. I pulled the blanket tighter against my shoulders.

His frown deepened, his hands coming out of his pockets to rest in his lap. "Do you like it here?"

The question surprised me. I blinked, trying to discern where the conversation was going, and felt my gaze drift back to the window. "Yeah," I murmured, taking in the view of the compound. "I do."

"Would you want to stay here?"

My head snapped back to stare at him. "I… can I?"

He snorted, his frown easing into something closer to a smile. "I wouldn't ask you to stay here if you couldn't actually do it."

"Would I be like… living with you?"

"You'd be my ward," he said. "It means that I'm in charge of watching you and taking care of you, but you're not legally my child."

"Why?"

I wanted to agree—how could I not?

Even ignoring the fact that I had grown to like the man, that I had grown to like the compound, that I had grown to like the some of the other people who lived in it, I would have stayed with him purely for the sake of avoiding the orphanage. Nobody had outright told me that that was where I was headed the next day, but the conclusion wasn't a hard one to reach. Where else would they put me?

My reasons for wanting to stay with him were clear, but I couldn't say the same about his reasons for wanting me to stay.

He was a young, active duty shinobi, who had far better things to do with his day than babysitting a kid—granted, I wasn't a child mentally and wouldn't actually require that much care, but he couldn't possibly know that.

What could drive him to take on that level of responsibility?

Was he being paid to do it, like with the mission? Was somebody forcing him to do it?

I didn't know, but I wouldn't—couldn't—agree to the arrangement until I found out.

He leant to the side, resting his shoulder on the wall and pulling one of his legs up under himself. His eyes gained a faraway look, as if he was off somewhere else, sometime else, staring at a point past my shoulder instead of at me.

"A long time ago, I was just like you," he said, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. "My parents died, and I'm an only child—I didn't really know what I was going to do."

He fell silent.

"What happened?" I asked, the question coming out in a soft, lilting breath, barely above a whisper.

"Somebody helped me, somebody…" he trailed off. Then his lips twitched up into a smile. "Somebody took a chance on me. They gave me a chance." His gaze shifted, as if he was transitioning back into the present. "I think it's only fair that I do the same for you. You're a good kid, and you deserve some stability. I'm not looking to replace your parents or anything like that, but I'm willing to offer you a place that you can call home—if you want it."

That was all I needed to hear.

The mattress dipped beneath my weight as I dropped down from the ledge and crawled over to where Maen was sitting. The man stared at me, slightly alarmed, but I ignored it. My arms wrapped around his torso and I buried my face in his chest, not bothered that his reaction to the contact was to stiffen.

"Thank you," I murmured, the word muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

After a second one arm wrapped around me, as hesitant and tense as the rest of him, but I wasn't bothered. That could change in time—that would change in time.

He couldn't replace my parents, nobody could do that; mama and papa would always be the people who gave me my start in this life. I was confident, though, that one day, however far in the future it may have been, however much work it may require, that I would come to consider Maen to be family in his own right.

.

.

Maen stared down at the small child who was stubbornly attached to him, her arms holding his chest in a vice-grip.

He still wasn't certain whether he could do it. All of his reservations were still in place, his reasons for doubting himself were still perfectly valid. This wouldn't be a walk in the park for either of them.

His free hand reached up and settled atop the kids head, his other already pressed up against her back, holding her in a light grip for fear that he might break her. She was damn tiny—he had known that already, as he had spent three days carrying her back to Konoha and had barely noticed her weight the entire trip, but it was hitting him all over again.

This was a child.

However unusually mature and intelligent she may have been, despite the fact that she'd witnessed things no child should ever have to witness, she was still a child, and she was now his responsibility. He realised at that moment that it didn't matter whether or not he thought he was capable of taking care of her—he was going to give it a shot anyways and if he was going to go down, he was going to go down trying.

Shikaku had done it for him all those years ago. Now, it was his turn.


	6. Introduction: Part 6

"I can't."

"I figured."

Inohara frowned, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her teacup. "I would if I could, you know that," she murmured. "I just—I don't have any time right now. I'm got two more weeks left in my off-duty period and they're both booked rock-solid."

She nodded. "They always do, you know, so I don't see this time now would be any different. The border posts are always short on medics," she said. "They need me more than the clinic needs me."

Maen leant back into the couch cushion, disappointed but unsurprised—that was the outcome he had been expecting. Field trained medics were always in demand, that much hadn't changed even though the war had long since ended. Really, when he thought of it, the fact that Inohara had even been home when he dropped by was something of a miracle.

He'd just have to figure something else out.

"I get it," he answered and his shoulders lifted in a shrug. "Don't worry about it."

Her brows furrowed together and her lips twisted down, making it clear to Maen that she was already doing the exact opposite. "You're sure she won't talk to anybody else?"

"I'm not even sure she would have talked to you."

"That bad, huh?"

"She's getting better," Maen answered, the three words that he found described the kid in a nutshell. "She's mostly fine with me, Shikaku-sama, Yoshino-sama, and Shikamaru-chan now, but anybody else is lucky to get more than a few words out of her."

"So she doesn't like strangers," Inohara summarised.

"Pretty much."

Inohara thought on that for a moment. "Honestly? I don't know what you can do."

"That makes two of us," he grumbled.

It was, again, the answer he had been dreading to hear, but still the one he had expected to receive.

"The best advice I can give you is to just wait and see. Take things one step at a time," she advised. When Maen's expression shifted, she gave a shake of her head. "I know you're worried—that's fine—but for all you know she could completely forget all of this in a couple of years. Pushing now could only cause further emotional damage, especially if she's going to be as unreceptive to a foreign presence as I think she is. She's still young. Just give her some time."

* * *

"Nap or snack?"

I cracked an eye open, tilting my chin to the side of Maen's shoulder to meet his gaze.

Four-year-old bodies required significant amounts of sleep, as it turned out, and were easily tired by even the simplest of tasks—in that case, shopping. Groceries had been the main goal of the outing but we had made pitstops to get me more clothes, as only a minimum amount had been purchased a month prior, and Maen more 'shinobi stuff', whatever that entailed. We had only been gone for a few short hours, but it had been enough to make my eyelids heavy.

That being said, nine times out of ten, when given the choice to sleep or eat, the latter won out on the instinctual food chain.

"Snack," I mumbled.

He adjusted my position on his back and shifted the bags hanging off his arm. "Pick someplace."

I blinked both my eyes open then, suppressing a yawn with my hand and letting my gaze trace over the various stalls, taking in all of the options. Truth be told, I didn't know what half—if even that—the stalls were selling as food in Konoha differed greatly from the cuisine offered in Kiso. Food in Kiso relied more heavily on fish due to how close in proximity the village was to the ocean, as well as both the Land of Rivers and the Land of Waves. Konoha, however, leant far more towards rice dishes and red meat dishes, coated with a generous layer of spicy sauces.

As we passed a stall that was selling things that looked and smelt fish-related, I pointed a finger at that and Maen wound his way through the throng of people towards it.

A man stood behind the counter, idly preparing a wide variety of fish products, some raw and some grilled on skewers, some spiced and some served on top of rice. A few of them held a vague level of familiarity; the majority of what Kiso served were bastardizations of River and Wave dishes, and everything that the man was selling appeared to be attempting to do the same, though far less effectively.

The man looked up as we approached. "Well, hello there!" he greeted, the wide grin on his face taking on a forced air to it when his eyes hit Maen's hitae-ate. "What can I get for you two?"

If Maen noticed the shift—which I was certain he did—he didn't react to it. "You can get whatever you want," he said to me. "Just try not to spoil your dinner."

"There's so many to pick from," I mumbled.

I could make a guess at what most of it was, but through the sauces and the spices and the various other garnishes, it was hard to be certain.

The man perked up at my voice. "Why, is that a Wave accent I hear?"

I fought off a flinch and the muscles in Maen's shoulders tightened a fraction beneath my chin.

The accent was slight—many of Kiso's residents were immigrants from Wave, with a few stragglers making their way in from River, and over time, the majority of the people living in the village developed something of a lilt to their voice that resembled a Wave Country accent. Really, I had barely noticed that it was there until I had already been in Konoha for a week.

"Why do you care?" Maen asked him.

The grin on the man's face faltered, taken aback by the blunt words. He yanked it back into place in record time and let out an uneasy chuckle, though neither gesture was the least bit convincing.

"Ah—my apologies," the man forced out. "It was just a question from a nosy old man, no harm meant by it."

Maen let out a light scoff and then proceeded to ignore the man, leaning his head back to look at me. "See anything you want?"

Wordlessly, I pointed a finger at what looked like a skewer of deep-fried prawns that were covered a glistening red sauce, not wanting to linger any longer. There was an exchange of money and the stick was placed in my pudgy fist.

"Thanks," I murmured as Maen made his way back through the crowd of people, heading in the direction of the Nara compound.

"Thank me by not getting any of that on my shirt," the man answered, but he turned his head to give me a glimpse of the smirk on his face. "You're not the one who'll have to wash it out if you do."

"Meanie," I huffed. "Might do it now, just 'cause."

"Have fun trying to get it out—you can't even reach the sink."

I poked my knee into his ribs. He snorted, pressing a finger into the back of my knee in return. A squeak escaped me and I jolted, inadvertently jamming my other knee inwards as well—not that I felt bad about doing so.

"So mean."

"Whatever."

I took a nibble of the prawns, the combination of the prawns and the sauce saccharine rather than spicy, as I had been expecting. "Oh," I murmured, "it's sweet."

"Don't like it?"

"Nah, I do. It's kinda like something mama used to make."

"Yeah?"

I hummed. "She didn't use sweet prawns, though, and the sauce was a bit sour."

He didn't respond.

A few days later, though, when dinnertime rolled around, something suspiciously like what I described was waiting for me on the table. He had gotten close, but a few of the little details had been off—regardless, I hadn't been able to wipe the smile off of my face for the rest of that night.

* * *

I shot upright in my bed, the remnants of a scream still echoing in my ears, a hand shooting upwards to muffle any chance that I would unintentionally cry out. Tears were pricking in my eyes. Every nerve in my body was alight. My limbs were stiff.

Breathe.

I forced out a single, harsh breath.

The whole room was shrouded in darkness. The light of the moon streamed through the window, creating a spotted pattern of white that stained the floor of the room as it was filtered through the top part of the forest's canopy, the beams barely bright enough to penetrate the black of night.

Focus on the light.

It's fine.

You're fine.

For a few moments I sat there, staring straight down at the floor while I waited for my heart rate to drop down into a steady beat. Once I thought they would hold my weight I threw my legs over the side of the bed, tossed aside the covers, and padded across the room to slide into my slippers. The plush fabric was a welcome alternative to the chilled hardwood.

Slowly, I pulled down on the doorknob for my room and stepped out into the hallway, taking an equal amount of care to close the door without making any noise.

The nightmares had gotten better. It had been a month and a half since coming to Konoha and in that time they'd decreased in frequency, all the way down to once or twice a week. They hadn't decreased in severity, though; each nightmare was still enough to send my heart into a fluttering panic and keep me from sleeping for the rest of the night. Some nights I would sit up and doodle on my sketch pads in the moonlight, while others I would simply sit on my bed and stare at the wall until the sun came up, counting the minutes as they dragged by.

I tended to avoid venturing out of my room in an effort to limit the chance that I'd wake Maen—that didn't seem to help much, him being a shinobi and all, but it minimised the guilt I felt over keeping him up. That night, though, my throat was dry, and I was hoping that a cup of tea might have been enough to lull me back to sleep.

I flicked on half of the kitchen lights, the bulb buzzing as electricity surged through it.

The electric kettle was sitting on the far counter—the counter that I wasn't tall enough to reach yet. Most of the time, it would sit on the lower shelves after Maen was done with it, which I could get to easily enough. On the odd occasion that he forgot to put it away after using it, however, it would sit up where it was, right in front of the outlet and out of my grasp.

Out of nowhere, a form passed me and entered the kitchen without making a single sound. I jumped, rearing back a step.

Maen walked over to the counter and pointed at the kettle, a non-verbal question, his hair down around his shoulders and his eyes glazed with sleep, not even awake enough to remember to make noise as he entered the kitchen. A flush worked its way up my neck and I nodded in response, shuffling over to the table.

He filled up the kettle in the sink, putting in enough water for a single cup. He turned the tap off, paused, and turned it back on again, letting more water dribble in, a second cup's worth. Watching him as he did that, it dawned on me that even if I had managed to get the kettle down, I wouldn't have been able to fill it up as I wasn't yet tall enough to reach the sink, either—let it never be said that sleep aided in the concocting of plans.

Maen placed the kettle on the stand and set it to boil.

I tilted my head back and stared up at the ceiling; the sound of wood scraping against tile alerted me that he had sat down in the chair opposite of mine.

"M'sorry," I mumbled, hating how small my voice sounded.

"For what?"

I let my chin fall back down. He was staring at me, a single eyebrow raised. "Waking you up."

"What, did you do it on purpose?"

"No…"

"Then why are you apologising?"

I rolled my eyes and let out a puff of air—it was something between a sigh, a huff, and a snort, a gesture that expressed a general sense of exasperation.

The sound of water bubbling signalled that the kettle was finished. Maen stood, rummaging in the kitchen and returning a minute later with two cups of tea, chamomile and lavender with a drop of honey. He sat back down in his seat, setting a scroll onto the table beside his cup that he seemed to have pulled from out of thin air.

That was all he did—he simply read and drank his tea in silence, eyes flitting back up to me every few minutes.

I saw no reason to break the quiet, holding my cup in my hands and staring off out the kitchen window. I wasn't sure how long passed by the time that both of our cups were empty. It was long enough that my gaze had gone unfocused and I had gotten lost in my thoughts, my mind adrift.

A tap on my head reigned me in from my reverie.

Maen stood beside my chair with his hand resting on the back of it, staring down at me. "You ready?"

"I think so," I murmured.

"Come on, then."

He moved out of the kitchen and I followed.

As I stood in front of my door I found something holding me back, giving me pause, and the other set of footsteps that were ambling down the hallway came to a stop. I stared forward resolutely and tried to will my uncooperative hand to reach up, to grasp the doorknob, to turn it, to open the door, but it was to no avail.

"Kid?"

"Can… can I come and sleep with you?"

The words slipped out before I could stop them and the second they left my mouth I wanted to take them back, the request sounding so stupid and childish and needy when voiced aloud.

There was a second of hesitation. "Yeah, sure. Go grab your own pillow, though, 'cause I'm not sharing mine."

All the tension that had wound through my body evaporated. By the time I had turned to look at him he had already disappeared into his room again, leaving me standing alone in the hallway.

.

.

She was out like a light as soon as her head hit the pillow.

She had her knees pulled up and inwards, her chin resting against her collarbone, one of her arms held tight against her stomach while the other had reached out to take a fistful of his shirt. He had thought she would be sleeping on her own side of the bed. Yet, when she crawled under the covers and positioned herself right up against him, curling into his chest, he saw no other appropriate response except to let her do it.

He didn't mind, really, it was more that he couldn't recall the last time he had shared a bed with somebody, the sensation of having the warm lump of another person in such close proximity while he slept being foreign to him, but not uncomfortable. What mattered to him was that the kid had fallen asleep again. A far as he was aware, that hadn't happened the other times that nightmares roused her from sleep. If a bit of company was what she needed to keep the nightmares at bay, he supposed that he could get used to it.

He pulled the covers up so that they sat on her shoulders and his midriff. One of his arms went behind his head while the other was draped over her, resting against her back, and he felt the kid shift closer to him in her sleep.

He laughed, soft and short.

When he left the village two months prior expecting a quick and easy C-rank escort mission, he never could have imagined that it would change his life in the way that it did. He had left an eternal bachelor and returned with a real thing, a living creature, who he had become responsible for, whether or not he realised it then. He had somebody relying on him, who needed him to be present and functioning every day of the week. His life wasn't just his own any longer.

It was surreal when he thought of it like that.

Staring down at the little head peeking above the blankets, watching the soft rise and fall of her chest, Maen knew without question that, unexpected or not, drastic or not, the changes to his future were for the better.

* * *

"Hokage-sama."

"Ah, Maen-kun. Thank you for coming so quickly."

"Of course." Maen glanced around the room—he was the last one to arrive. He raised a hand in greeting, a two-fingered wave. "Hey."

Aside from Hiruzen, there were two other shinobi standing in the office that were decked out in chunin vests and a third with a jonin vest, all of whom Maen recognised but couldn't summon up names to match to their faces. The chunin were young, late teens at the most. The jonin—or, more likely, tokubetsu jonin—was a bit closer to Maen's age, looking to be in his early twenties.

"As I am sure you have guessed, I have a mission for you four," Hiruzen said, the pipe in the corner of his mouth letting out a puff of smoke. His gaze turned to Maen. "Maen-kun, you'll be leading the team."

A scroll was tossed Maen's way and he reached up to snatch it out of the air. He unrolled it, his eyes scanning over the words and making note of the important details.

B-rank.

Item retrieval, which would require infiltration and undercover work, potentially seduction as well depending on the targets.

Located in the southern part of the Land of Tea.

He bit back a sigh.

He had been back on the active roster for a month. During that time, he'd been fed a multitude of light duty missions, couriers through Fire Country and outpost check ups, along with the odd bounty run with his ANBU squad. None of that work took more than a day to complete, nothing that would keep him away for any extended period of time; he suspected there had been a bit of meddling on both Shikaku and Hiruzen's part to keep him close to the village while the kid was still settling.

They could only keep him around for so long, though. He was an infiltration specialist. The majority of the work he did was long and drawn out, requiring him to take a significant amount of long-term missions. He couldn't avoid them forever.

Maen turned to look out the window—it was still early morning. He would have rather waited until the next day to leave but with how long of a trip it was to southern Land of Tea, a four-day trip if they used proper pacing and minimal rest breaks, they could hardly afford to waste the day of sunlight.

"This'll probably take a couple of weeks, give or take a few days," Maen murmured, talking more to himself than anybody else.

"You think it'll be that long?" the special jonin asked. "It's only four days to get to the mission location, then another four days on the way back. I hardly think we'll need six days to get in there and grab the artefact."

"If you wanna just barge in and jack the thing, obviously it could be done in a day," Maen answered. "That's not an option, though. The scroll specifies that we need to be discreet. We'll need time to gather information on the court population, get a proper layout of the manor, and then scout out the shinobi guards who're probably hiding in among the civilians. Doing this right will take time."

"Indeed," Hiruzen said. "Though, I believe this conversation would be better suited in another room."

Maen nodded. They would have a lot to talk about. Missions like these were better discussed and planned prior to leaving the village, when their minds weren't clouded by the stress of being in the field. When the need arose, adjustments could and would be made accordingly.

"Are there any debriefing rooms open right now?" Maen asked.

"There should be a couple down the hall—rooms D5 and D6, I believe."

"Alright." He turned to the rest of the shinobi gathered. "Come on. We'll do a quick briefing right now. When we're done, we can break for a couple of hours to give you time to pack."

.

.

I laid on the grass, my limbs spread akimbo, basking in the warmth of the of the day.

I wanted to enjoy the weather while it was still bearable—summer was just around the corner and once the season turned, the feeling of the sun beating down on me would go from pleasant to stifling.

"What's this?"

My head rolled against the ground, turning to the side to look at Shikamaru. He had my sketch pad in his hand and was pointing at one of the pictures.

"Flowers."

"Really?"

"Yep."

"Doesn't look like it."

"That's cause it's an abstract drawing."

Doe eyes blinked in confusion. "Huh?"

"Nothing."

He shrugged and went back to flipping through the pages as if our exchange had never happened.

Kids were easy in that respect; most of them had the attention span of a goldfish. If I messed up, behaving oddly or speaking in a manner not suited to four-year-olds, all it took was a single word of misdirection and my transgression would slip their mind. They didn't dwell on things.

Adults weren't the same. Adults could think of things, could actually scrutinise what I was doing with a critical lens. It was intimidating, to say the least, especially in an environment like Konoha where there was an abundance of overly analytical, trigger-happy killers wandering around that wouldn't hesitate to take out anybody they've pegged as a spy—or, at least, ship them off to Torture and Interrogation.

I didn't know which option sounded worse.

Something warm and heavy landed atop my stomach. I lifted my head, staring at the fluffy black ponytail that was then occupying my line of sight, the hair of one Shikamaru Nara, who had apparently decided that I was suitable as a pillow.

"I don't think you're supposed to do that without asking first," I pointed out.

"Would you have said no?"

I opened my mouth and then shut it again—damn it.

He rolled over so that he was looking at me, that stupid Nara smirk on his face.

"Don't you have anything better to do?" I asked him.

"If I go back, I gotta do chores." He shuddered. "Kaa-chan wants me to clean my room."

"Well, is it messy?"

"Probably."

"Probably?"

"It looks okay to me, but kaa-chan says it's a dis—disa…"

"Disaster?"

"Yeah, that."

I let out a sigh. "Fine, whatever—just shut up and go to sleep, I wanna take a nap too."

"Actually, Shikamaru-chan, you can't go to sleep. I need you to go tell your kaa-chan something for me."

I turned towards the source of the voice, watching Maen as he strolled across the grassy clearing with his hands shoved in his pockets and a frown on his face.

Shikamaru didn't move. "Don't wanna."

"Tough. Tell her that Kasumi-chan needs to stay with you guys for a couple of weeks." Maen displaced Shikamaru from on top of me, nudging the boy with his foot and sending the little sloth tumbling away, whining pathetically. "Go on, gaki."

Shikamaru grumbled about it but complied with the request, picking himself up off of the ground and slouching away in the direction of his house.

"A couple of weeks?" I asked.

Something cold and uncertain settled in my gut. I supposed I had known that there would come a point when Maen had to take a longer mission. It was inevitable. Still, the idea of having him gone for that long, that he could leave for that long and not come back, had my heart clenching.

"Yeah, most likely," he said. "C'mon—we need to go pack your stuff."

I reached up to pull his hand free from his pocket as soon as I was close enough, wrapping my fingers around his calloused palm. He let me do it, and his own fingers curled up to squeeze mine briefly.

* * *

I sat up in the bed that had been lent to me, gasping and wheezing for air.

I could practically smell the blood, could practically hear the screams, could practically feel the rain pounding against my skin.

I'm not there. I'm safe. I'm okay. It's okay.

There was no window in the room for me to gaze out at and no light dancing upon the floor for me to focus on. A pad of paper sat in my bag on the other side of the room but at that moment I didn't want to put pencil to paper, didn't want to take down the images stained into my mind, not even in the crude scrawls that my efforts would produce.

What I really wanted in that moment was human contact. Something real, solid, warm.

I wanted Maen.

He wasn't there, though.

Instead, I found myself standing in front of the next room over with my pillow hanging from my hand, cracking the door open and slipping inside.

Shikamaru didn't even open his eyes as I lifted his covers and settled beside him in his bed. He muttered something, the words jumbled by sleep, but he didn't hesitate to shuffle over some and turn to face me, a single hand reaching out to cuddle me like he would a stuffed animal. Then he drifted back to sleep again as if nothing had ever happened.

It took me a few minutes of deep, calming breaths, but eventually, I followed him into a peaceful slumber.

.

.

Yoshino had been surprised when she opened the door to the guest room that morning and found the bed to be vacant—Maen had said that Kasumi wasn't an early riser, but that if she did wake up early, she would most likely stay in her room until somebody came to get her.

That being said, even if Maen had been wrong, Yoshino hadn't actually heard anybody moving around the house yet. It was just her and the children, as Shikaku had gotten called out on a mission at the start of the week.

On instinct, she went into Shikamaru's room, and that was where she found the two of them.

They were tangled up together with the covers partially thrown off. Kasumi was snuggled up into Shikamaru's stomach and the boy's limbs were haphazardly tossed over her; Yoshino didn't think it was a comfortable position for the girl, with one of her son's arms over her face and his knee on top of her ribs, but the sight was downright precious regardless.

She almost felt bad about disturbing it.

Almost.

She yanked off the covers with an obnoxiously loud cry of, "Rise and shine!"

It was a shame that she didn't have her video camera out to get the reaction—she was certain Maen would have enjoyed seeing it.


	7. Introduction: Part 7

Something warm impacted with Shikaku's back.

There he was, minding his own business, trying to take a nap on the mats in his own damn living room, when a small child—who he was certain wasn't his own—so rudely ripped him from his slumber.

How troublesome.

He grunted and cracked an eye open, watching as the little girl clambered up his back and then plopped down in front of his stomach. Her face was flushed and her breathing was laboured.

"Aren't you supposed to be getting ready?" he asked.

Her hair was half-done, with a chunk of her long auburn locks pulled up into a bun, while the rest hung down her back in knots. She hadn't gotten dressed yet, either; she was still wearing the set of panda pyjamas that she had entered the house in rather than the traditional kimono that she had brought with her.

The girl shook her head. "Yeah," she breathed, "but Yoshino-san is scary."

Shikaku barked out a laugh—he wouldn't deny that. Instead, he asked, "Would you rather Maen do your hair and help you get in your kimono?"

He watched as her eyes widened and her lips parted. "That… that's worse."

"I mean, I could try."

"No."

"Your loss—I'm good with hair."

"I don't believe you."

"I am," he drawled, his lips pulling up into a smirk. "I've had long hair all my life, gaki—and I do Shikamaru-chan's hair."

"Your hair's not that great, though."

He flicked her on the forehead. She squawked, reeling back.

"Don't be rude."

"I'm not," she grumbled.

"That was rude."

"Why? I was being honest."

"Honesty is rude."

Her lips puffed out in a pout.

The kid was interesting. She had a mouth on her, that much was undeniable, and enough intelligence to use that mouth to her advantage. There were points where he had to do a double-take after hearing some of the stuff she said. She was too smart for her own good if you asked him, and that gave her the potential to be a downright menace; she was full of attitude and stubborn as a bull.

Underneath all the bluster, though, he knew she was a good kid. He'd seen her with his son and cousin enough to know that, and he'd gotten glimpses of it himself.

Watching her interact with the deer, how gentle she was with them, how much they seemed to trust her. Seeing her help Yoshino with the dishes and the chores whenever she was at the house, doing so without being asked and smiling as she did it. Listening to her explain her drawings to Shikamaru whenever he poked around through her sketch book and the fact that she never snapped at him, not even when talking about her drawings of her parents and her old village.

She was sweet when she wanted to be, but she was also a little shit when she wanted to be.

He supposed that would come in handy if she ever became a shinobi—she had the potential be a fantastic manipulator with how fast she could piss people off.

Kasumi opened her mouth, ready to rebut his words, when footsteps thundered down the hall. Shikaku's entire body went cold—Kasumi wasn't the only person who hadn't gotten dressed yet.

Yoshino had asked him an hour ago to get dressed. He said he would. He had lied. He knew his wife would be too occupied to nag him, so he had taken the opportunity to catch a bit more sleep before the festivities for the evening kicked off. They'd be up for most of the night, after all, and he wanted to be well rested. Nothing wrong with that.

He cursed his sleep-addled mind. He should have known better than to stick around after realising the kid had escaped his wife—she had led Yoshino right to him. Now, instead of only the kid dying a premature death at the hands of his wife, they were both going to be crushed like gnats.

He went to get up but a hand grabbed at his shirt.

Kasumi had a fistful of the fabric in her hands, but she wasn't looking at him. Her eyes were locked on the hallway from which her impending doom would emerge.

"If I go down," she whispered, "you're going down with me."

Before he could slip from her grasp Yoshino rounded the corner, wearing an expression that promised eternal damnation to those who had wronged her. Her eyes first went to the girl, then flicked up to what the girl was holding onto—him.

The destructive aura swirling around Yoshino increased tenfold.

He let out a resigned sigh, his posture drooping into an exaggerated slouch.

Damn it.

.

.

Shikamaru pulled on the sleeve of her kimono, lifting it up and eyeing it. "That looks troublesome."

It was bright pink and flowery and long, the sleeves draping down so low that they almost dragged along the ground when her hands were at her sides. She didn't look particularly thrilled to be wearing it, in Shikamaru's opinion. She kept yanking at it and tugging at it, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

He had never seen her in a kimono before. He didn't think it suited her.

Kasumi snorted. "It is."

"Don't say that!" Ino snapped. "Your kimono is pretty!"

Ino, on the other hand, looked perfectly at home in her lavender and white kimono.

"It's itchy," Kasumi muttered, fidgeting in place and grimacing. "It's really tight, too."

Kasumi pulled at the fabric and tried to loosen the obi but Ino smacked her hand away. "You're gonna wreck it."

"Are you cold?" Choji asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

She shrugged. "Kinda," she admitted, "but it's got layers. So it's not too bad."

Shikamaru could see her shivering despite her words. It was the end of December, the middle of winter—it was cold outside. He was cold, and he was pretty confident his kimono was made of a thicker material than hers.

As if his thoughts were in the same vein Choji ambled forward, wrapping his arms around Kasumi and squeezing her. She wheezed out a breath and patted Choji's arm.

"Not so tight—you're gonna break her!" Ino cried.

"Yeah," Kasumi choked out, wiggling in his grip, "a little."

Choji let out a sheepish laugh and lightened his grip. "Better?"

Kasumi grinned. "Better." She turned her eyes to Shikamaru, waving her hand and jerking her head in his direction. "C'mere."

She was staring at him, her eyes wide and her head tilted, the same look the fawn always gave Shikamaru when he had food with him.

He saw no reason to try and argue with her—he never won. His life was easier when he just did what she wanted.

He walked over and hugged her free side, opposite of Choji.

Kasumi hummed, leaning her head against his shoulder. "So warm."

Ino huffed. "You guys are weird. I'm gonna go bug my chichi."

"Awh, Ino-chan," Kasumi said. "Come on—don't you wanna hug?"

"Nu uh. I don't wanna get my hair or kimono messed up."

"Your loss."

Ino walked off in search of their parents, and the three of them stayed like that, cuddled up in the middle of the street as people walked past them.

Shikamaru went to break away from the group when Kasumi's hand latched onto the back of his kimono and held him in place. He let out a sigh of resignation, his shoulders slumping into a slouch. He was stuck there until she was ready to let go.

Troublesome.

.

.

"Bite."

Shikamaru stuck his dango stick out to his left, in the general direction of her face. He saw her shift in her peripheral as she ducked down to take a bite of the sweet-tasting snack.

"Bite," he said.

Kasumi held out her mochi as she chewed and Shikamaru pulled off a chunk of it, popping the cake into his mouth.

The festival was in full swing around them; the night was still in it's infancy. Most people were returning to the streets from their trip to the shrine, the bells having rung and their udon having been consumed, the first day of the New Year upon them. Games were being played, drinks were being drunk, and laughter was being had.

Shikamaru was ready to go home, though—he was tired.

He and Kasumi had slunk away when the adults began talking. Shikamaru didn't know who any of them were, but both his parents and his uncle had been familiar with them, and his father had simply introduced them as 'work friends'. Or, he thought that was all his father had said. Shikamaru hadn't paid much attention as he was too busy fantasising about being curled up under his covers at home.

"If we're quick," Kasumi muttered, "we can probably sleep for a couple of minutes before they come wake us up."

"My kaa-chan said she'd ground me if she caught me sleeping."

"What she doesn't know won't hurt her."

He threw a frown at her. "You don't have to do the dishes for a week if you get caught sleeping—Maen-nii won't be mad if you nap."

She shrugged. "Then I'll sleep and you can watch me do it."

She took another bite of her mochi, passed the rest of it to him, and placed herself up against his side. She was snoring almost instantly.

Shikamaru groaned. How troublesome.

His eyes shifted back to where the adults were, honing in specifically on a blonde girl his age who was clinging to her father, and then back to Kasumi.

He supposed she wasn't that troublesome.

.

.

Shikaku watched the interaction with a small, amused grin.

Maen and Kasumi sat on one of the benches a ways off. She was settled on his lap, her back leaning into his chest and her head against his collarbone, tipping into the crook of his neck. His chin was tilted to the side in a way that it skimmed the top of her head. His arms were behind him, palms pressed into the grass to brace their combined weight.

Above them, the fireworks were in full effect. That was the reason that their little group had gathered in one of Konoha's largest civilian parks, taking a short break from the rest of the New Years festivities.

The kid's eyes were glued to the sky above her—it was her first time seeing fireworks if he had overheard their conversation correctly. Her violet orbs were stretched wide as she gazed up in wonderment, her attention enraptured by the litany of colours sparking to life against the obsidian backdrop.

Maen wasn't watching the show as his eyes were firmly cast down to stare at the tiny thing in his lap. His expression was tender, with the lines around his eyes softening and his lips pulling up into a smile.

Had somebody told Shikaku a year ago that that was what would become of his cousin, he'd have called them a dirty liar. A doting familial figure to a four-year-old girl, who had him firmly wrapped around her pinky finger? No, he would have asked them what genjutsu they were under, and then subsequently told them to fuck off.

He would admit, however, with no small amount of smugness, that he had been right all those months ago when he guessed that the kid would be good for Maen. Orchestrating their coming together had been a pain, as had been the subsequent efforts to keep Maen around the village whenever possible, but Shikaku knew it was worth it.

His baby cousin deserved the dose of happiness, as did the child in his lap.

They were damn good for each other.

He heard a stifled laugh off to his right. He turned to see that Yoshino had caught sight of the two as well and had lifted a hand to cover her mouth, the tips of her lips peeking out from behind it to reveal her smile. Shikamaru had fallen asleep in much the same position Kasumi was in, cradled in Yoshino's arms with his face buried in her neck.

"I told you we should have brought the camera," she murmured.

"Yeah," Shikaku drawled. "Next year."

She nodded, turning her gaze back to Shikamaru and running a hand through his hair.

Shikaku leant into her shoulder, wrapping an arm around her waist and turning his gaze back up to the sky, watching the rest of the fireworks.


	8. Academy: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for those of you who aren't aware, I actually use FFN as my main site. On FFN, you get to see my authors notes and you get to vote on some of the chapters POVs (which is based on the milestones that I achieve on FFN). If you have FFN I'd suggest reading/following the story there, because that's where you'll get to have a say on the fic and actually get to read the notes I leave on the fic.

"I wanna be a shinobi."

Maen hesitated, a brief wave of stiffness passing through the muscles in his back. When he turned away from the stove to face me his expression was pulled into an impassive mask.

"Alright," he said, a measured word, slow to pass his lips. "Any reason in particular?"

"I… wanna be able to protect people."

What I didn't mention was that my own person was ranked chiefly among the general allotment of 'people'.

Not that protecting friends and family wasn't appealing, or Konoha, which was beginning to feel like a 'home', but the origin of the urge was selfish in nature.

Summer was nearing. My fifth birthday had passed in a blur, as had the one-year anniversary of my coming to Konoha, and I didn't care to remember either of them. A year was a lot of time to think. The notion of becoming a shinobi had seated itself in me early on, once I recognised just how much danger was in my immediate future, and it hadn't faded as time wore on.

I wanted to protect myself; I didn't want to have to be reliant on those around me to do it.

Not that I doubted they could—Maen was a jonin, having been promoted in the recent months. If danger ever showed itself, I had no doubt that Shikaku would jump to my defence, as well, and he was more than capable of handling himself in a fight. By the time everything really hit the fan Shikamaru would have come into his own, which would then bring the tally up to three powerful Nara who would come to my aid in a time of need.

While the idea was comforting, there was something inherently wrong to me about sitting back and crossing my fingers and trusting the people around me to do the brunt of the work.

I was well aware that there was nothing romantic about being a shinobi, despite the bullshit that was often shovelled into the open mouths of children and civilians. The morality of it was dodgy at best. Murdering, stealing, spying—wrapped up in pretty patriotic sentiments, of course, but the truth of it was undeniable.

Yet, when one looked at it out of the lens of the world, these things grew increasingly less immoral. This was a cruel word; dog-eat-dog was an apt description of the mentality held by most. If you didn't murder your adversaries, they'd kill you first. If you didn't steal from your enemies, they'd rob you first. If you didn't spy on those around you, they'd gather information on you first. You were either proactive or dead, there was no two ways about it.

The thoughts left a sour taste in my mouth, but that only meant they were along the right track.

I doubted I would ever take glee in killing, in inflicting pain on another. So long as I lived long enough to feel the aftermath of those acts, though, I knew that I could do it and overcome whatever challenges committing them brought me.

I would do it.

"You do?" he asked. "You've never mentioned this."

"I didn't think of it until I heard Shika-chan talking about going to the Academy."

That was a half-truth—more, I hadn't thought to mention it before that day because I had assumed that I would be going to the Academy. It wasn't until I overheard Maen and Shikaku discussing the prospect of me in civilian schooling and how I was bound to mentally scar a few teachers that I realised my assumption had been misplaced.

"This is a big decision," he reiterated. "Have you really thought it through?"

"'Course I have," I huffed.

"Uh huh."

"I wanna do it, I know I do."

Maen reached over across the counter, picking up a towel and rubbing his hands dry with it, buying himself a second to think my words over. His neutral expression remained intact.

"Alright," he conceded. "We'll get you signed up for the Academy next month."

I smiled. "Thanks."

He nodded. "We've gotta go by the hospital, then, and get your medical records updated. In the meantime, I'm going get you started on your physical training—oh, and I'm going to get Yoshino to increase the pace of your reading lessons."

I groaned at that, and the grin I received in return was vaguely sadistic. "Physical training?"

"Running laps, learning kata, running laps, doing pushups, running laps, doing sit ups—did I mention running laps?"

"You're cruel."

He shrugged, turning back to finish making dinner, but didn't deny the statement.

The table shook as my forehead dropped onto it.

* * *

 

The medic pressed the piece of wood against my tongue and hummed to himself, staring down into the depths of my throat. I fidgeted on the edge of the hospital bed, trying to distract myself from the discomfort, and averted my gaze up to the ceiling to avoid making awkward eye contact with the teenager.

"Say 'ah'."

"Ahh."

The flashlight flicked on and off a couple of times before he was satisfied. He removed the stick and took a step back, slipping the flashlight into his back pocket. He reached over and picked up the clipboard to jot down a few notes, intermittently tapping the end of the pen against his lip in thought.

"So?" Maen asked from his spot in the corner.

The medic flicked his eyes—which were an admittedly lovely shade of blue—over to Maen, his lips turning up in a smile. "Everything's peachy."

"How about her coils?"

"Ah," he said, shifting to set the clipboard down at the foot of the bed, "they're still inactive."

Maen frowned. "Damn."

"I'd suggest activating them now," he said. "She's going to have a headache and a touch of nausea for a couple of days following it, just while her body adjusts, so it'll probably better to get it out of the way now."

"I was planning on it."

"Uh, what?" I asked.

At my intervention, both of them turned to look at me.

The medic's lips lifted up in a crooked smile. "Do you know what chakra is?"

"Kinda."

"Well, you see, everybody has spiritual and physical energy that makes up their chakra. It moves all through our body, through these things called pathways," he explained, poking a finger against my chest and then dragging it up to my shoulder, down through my arm, and ended at the tips of my fingers. "Our body is always making more chakra and is always keeping it going through the pathways."

The medic paused, moving his head to look at Maen, his expression uncertain. Maen gave him a nod.

"I get it," I said.

"Good. Okay, so there is a minimum amount of chakra that your body needs moving through it to keep it alive. If somebody is only producing that minimum amount of chakra, without creating excess, then their pathways are considered 'inactive'. People who have inactive pathways can't use their chakra for anything—no jutsu, no cool super strength, nothing. That's what your body is doing right now. Having 'active' pathways means that your body is using more than the minimum amount of chakra in their pathways and can produce excess chakra. People with active pathways are able to learn how to perform jutsu and make use of their chakra. If people do start using chakra, more than just what their body uses in their pathways, that's when they'll begin developing what are known as reserves—extra chakra that their body stores for them."

As he talked, the medic began rummaging around the room. He rolled his chair back to get at a cabinet off to the side, pulling out a fresh pair of white gloves and snapping them on.

"So, like, shinobi are the ones who have the reserves, right?"

"That's right."

"Huh. Wait, do all the other Academy students have to get this done?"

"Not quite. It's, ah… complicated. You see, there are a few ways somebody's pathways can open up. Any kunoichi will give birth to children with active pathways, 'cause chakra reserves are stored in the belly right by where the fetus sits in the womb, and the exposure to chakra opens the pathways. Civilians who have active pathways are able to pass it on biologically, too, but it doesn't happen that often," he explained. He tilted his head, tapping his finger against his chin. "It's also possible for you to open it up on your own if you spend enough time trying to use your chakra, sorta like working a muscle." He gave a shrug. "The ones who have to come in and have them activated manually are in the same boat as you—just didn't have any of the above happen."

"Oh."

He grinned. "Interesting stuff, yeah?"

I nodded. "Do I get to learn 'bout this in the Academy?"

"A little," he said. "You get an intro to the basics of chakra in your first year. You'll get a bit more in-depth stuff in the second and third year."

"Cool."

The medic scribbled a few more things down as he shuffled his chair closer to where I was, parking it in front of me and setting the clipboard back down at my side.

"Alright. To activate your chakra pathways, I need to use a bit of my own chakra to kickstart them," he said. The medic stood from his chair and smiled down at me. "This'll only take a second. When I activate your paths, you're going to feel some tingling. You might feel some pressure, too, like somebody giving you a really tight hug—don't panic if you do, okay? Just relax and all of it will be over in a minute."

"Okay."

His palm was warm as he pressed it against atop my head.

There was nothing, for a second. Then the warmth increased and the tingling he had mentioned blossomed out, down from my scalp to the centre of my forehead, to my throat, then branched out from there to the rest of my body. It was an almost pleasant sensation—until it hit the end of it's path, the tips of my toes.

Like a switch had been flipped the world around me exploded in feeling. There were things and sensations and noises around me, an overload of stuff, of fuzz, of heat.

My fingers curled around the edge of the bed as if to brace myself against the onslaught. Eyes wide, my gaze shot around the room, my eyes trying to comprehend what I could see was there, what I could feel was there. Tears burned in the corners of my eyes, my mouth opening in a silent scream as my entire body seized up in panic.

What the hell?

All of it burned my skin and my eyes, my mind and my soul.

So much, so fast. Colours and… and that stuff, what is that stuff?

Hands were pressed against my shoulders. My gaze jerked forward, landing Maen, whose lips were moving but the words were lost on me, the ringing in my ears drowning the rest of the world out. His brows were furrowed together and while his face was composed, the grip he had on my shoulders was shaky.

His face was there, he was there, but there was something else as well, like a surge of red that flitted over his visage, pulsing and ebbing away.

The edges of my vision began to grey.

"It… it hurts," I whimpered, the only comprehensible thought in my mind.

His face tightened. He turned, directing his words at somebody else—the medic, who was standing by the door with a stricken expression. The medic looked to Maen, pausing, then nodded and bolted from the room.

Amid the chaos of everything, even though I couldn't see where the medic was going, I could feel the shift in the world around me as he ran through the hospital.

Spots were dancing over my vision. My breath started to come in gasps as I felt my consciousness start to fade, my body shutting down underneath the weight of the heightened awareness I was experiencing. The grey curled in, overtaking more of my vision with each second that ticked by.

Maen's gaze moved downward, his eyes widening. The last thing I saw was the brief flash of horror that marred his features before everything went black and my body went limp.

.

.

Maen leant back in the uncomfortable plastic chair that sat in front of Kasumi's hospital room, taking a drag from his cigarette and settling his head against the bleached white walls.

He figured smoking was prohibited in the hospital, but he wasn't in any mood to care.

He'd been there for three hours, sitting and waiting, stuck stewing on the situation. There was nothing he could do to help. The medics were in there, keeping her stable and trying to work out just what the hell had happened; he had his own suspicions, which didn't match up with what the medics had told him an hour prior, but he didn't think voicing them would be productive. He wasn't a medic, after all. He could think they were wrong all he wanted but that didn't make him right.

He heaved a sigh.

"You're definitely not supposed to be doing that."

Maen turned towards the voice of his cousin, whose eyes were on the cigarette. "You think anybody has the guts to try and tell me that?" Maen asked.

"With a look on your face like that? Not a chance." Shikaku strolled forward, hands in his pockets. The closer he got, the more easily Maen could pick out the hints of tension that were threaded through his body, pinching his face and tightening his shoulders. "What happened? The chunin you sent didn't give me any details."

"The medic activated her pathways and she freaked—panicked, said… said it 'hurt'."

Those were words he didn't think he could ever forget. The look on her face, the tremble in her voice, they were burned into his mind.

He never wanted to see or hear her say that ever again—he wouldn't, not so long as he lived and had anything to say about it. Nara may have their lazy reputation and fulfil it well, but everybody knew that the second a Nara got motivated, they were a force to be reckoned with. There was a reason that it was a Nara who held the title of youngest acting Jonin Commander, and the laziest of them all, to boot.

"Do they know why?"

"They think she's hypersensitive to chakra," Maen said. "The second her yin chakra kicked in the sensitivity did too, and her body had a negative reaction to its own chakra."

"You don't believe them?" Shikaku asked, catching the unsaid implication.

Maen shook his head. "No. I think she might be a sensor."

Shikaku's eyebrows shot up. "Why?"

"She… it was like she was looking at everything, her eyes were moving like crazy and her pupils were dilated. She wasn't just feeling something, she was seeing something."

Shikaku exhaled through his nose, a slow release of air. "What else aren't you telling me?" he asked. "You and I both know a civilian can't be born a sensor."

"Remember that odd invisibility bloodline that the shinobi who killed her parents had?"

There was a beat of silence.

Shikaku let out a moan, his hand rising to pinch the bridge of his nose and his eyes closed tight. "You're shitting me."

"It was only her hand, and I don't think she actually knew that she did it, but there's no denying it was the same technique."

"And because her pathways were inactive, her okaa-san must have been civilian, and her otou-san was a shinobi," Shikaku muttered. "Kid just wasn't lucky enough to have her otou-san pass on active pathways."

"But he did pass on a bloodlimit. If he can pass on that, I don't see why he couldn't pass on sensing abilities as well."

Shikaku nodded. "Well, at least now we know why they chased you across the damn country for the kid," he said. He walked forward, pausing to clap a hand against Maen's shoulder, then continuing forward towards the hospital room. "I'm going to go talk to them—they'll listen to what I have to say. Give me a few minutes to try and explain this."

.

.

"There's not really much we can do for her, sir, if that's the case."

"You can't just force them down?"

"No, sir. She's the only one who can actually shut them off. Even when she does, though, she'll retain a certain level of passive awareness that will take time for her to adjust to. All we can do is keep her calm, reduce her pain, and take the severity of it down a notch, but those are temporary measures at best, things we can do while she learns how to control it herself."

"Well… shit."

"I agree with the sentiment, sir."

* * *

The first two weeks after having my pathways opened were a bit of a blur, a side-effect of the drugs they had me on to keep me calm and dampen my sense while I learned to reign it in. I was fine with that. All of the memories would have consisted of ugly hospital rooms, terrible food, drug-induced giggling, and the monotonous process that was meditating for hours on end while I messed around with my newfound ability.

There wasn't much there to be missed.

After getting over the initial waves of shock that tore through my system from having an additional sense, having my chakra sense open wasn't as severe. The extra level of awareness was uncomfortable, even borderline painful when the hospital was especially busy and chakra was flaring everywhere, but none of the time I spent learning to get a grip on my senses had been anywhere near as bad as that first day.

Most of the work on controlling my sense had been done in my own time, after the medics had vacated the room and Maen had gone home for the night, when it was just me and the sea of dormant chakra signatures around me. Shutting off my sense was one of those things that, once it clicked, I no longer had any issue pulling it in and stamping it down, able to shut it off like one would close their eyes—well, for the most part. There was the small radius around me that lingered, but the few sensors that they had been brought in to provide assistance had said that it wouldn't go away and that eventually, I'd get used to it.

I didn't have any difficulty taking their word for it. By the time I had been discharged from the hospital, that brief area of awareness had already dulled into a manageable buzz in my mind rather than a glaring spot that screamed for attention.

I watched the goings on in the village from my vantage point on Maen's back; there was a surplus of people milling around under the evening sun.

With my senses firmly sectioned off and shut down, I couldn't see the chakra of the people who passed us by, but I could feel it. It was disconcerting, having the intangible knowledge that there was something there without having any type of visual indication of it's existence, like being able to hear the tinkling of wind chimes without being able to see them sway in the breeze. Part of my mind was certain that I was imagining things, while the other part was insisting that there is so much stuff around.

The sensual dissonance was, admittedly, messing with me.

"Hey, kiddo," Maen murmured, shifting me so I sat a bit higher up on his back. "How're you doing?"

"M'fine," I said. "Just… a lot of people around."

"Yeah? Want me to take the rooftops?"

I grimaced, recalling the nausea and noodle legs I'd gotten the last time he had done that. "No, no. This is… it's fine, honest."

"Alright."

Truthfully, being around the village, with the overabundance of civilians, wasn't anywhere near as bad as the hospital had been. The hospital had had a few hundred frantic medics sprinting around at all times, flaring their chakra and making use of their chakra in treatments; the majority of the patients in the hospital had been shinobi. The whole building had been like one massive blow horn, blaring on my raw sense.

The chakra in the civilians, though, was toned down and calm when compared to any of the shinobi who were wandering among them, a flickering flame in contrast to a roaring bonfire.

"What're you doin' with your chakra?" I asked, the words muffled by his shoulder. "It's all… weird looking."

He snorted. "'Weird looking'?"

"I dunno how to explain it."

"I'm suppressing it," he said.

"You can do that?"

He hiked me up again. "Yeah, it takes some practice, but most higher level shinobi learn to do it."

"Huh."

As we walked the rest of the way home I closed my eyes and watched the world around me through my senses. It was almost like having a series of fairy lights shining against my eyelids, a sea of stars set against a backdrop of black in my mind. Aside from the obvious fact that the lights represented chakra signatures, I didn't know what made the lights different from each other, why some were shifting and some were still, why some were pulsing and others were a steady light. Opening my senses didn't help me with that, either; opening my senses only served to provide me with further details to the signatures that I didn't yet understand.

It would take time.

I would figure it out, though. I had to.

* * *

 

"Hey, Kasumi-chan."

My pencil stilled—Maen never called me by my name around the house. In public, perhaps, but never when it was just the two of us.

"Yeah?" I answered, unfurling myself from my spot in the corner of the couch.

"Come over here. We need to talk about something."

That wasn't ominous at all.

"'Kay." I tossed my drawing pad onto the other side of the couch and walked over to the kitchen table where he was sitting, two cups of tea already in the ready position. "Is something going on?"

Maen scratched the back of his head, his lips pulling down in a frown. "Sorta. It has to do with what happened when your pathways were open."

He pushed my chair out for me with his foot. I sat down, instinctively cradling my cup of tea between my palms and taking a sip.

"What, something 'bout my senses?"

"No—I think you might have a kekkei genkai."

The words rolled over me, not sinking in right away. It took a second of Maen watching me expectantly for the weight of his statement—because there was a certainty in his voice that made his declaration a statement of fact, not a wild guess—to dawn on me.

"I—uh, what?"

"It happened right after your pathways were activated," he said. "You were in shock from what had happened, so you didn't notice it, I don't think, but your hand disappeared."

"My… my hand… disappeared?"

"Up to the wrist. It was so brief, and it went back to normal when you passed out, but it did happen."

The implications of my possessing a kekkei genkai were startling.

One of my parents had been shinobi.

Though, thinking on the information I had received earlier regarding the way chakra pathways work, I could already discern which one of my parents had been a shinobi—my pathways had been closed, and all kunoichi passed on active pathways to their children. Not that I wouldn't have been able to otherwise; my mother had been born and raised in Kiso, a village that lacked any trace of shinobi activity, but my father had not.

"Papa was a shinobi."

Maen nodded. "That's what Shikaku and I figured."

"He never… he never did anything, no weird jutsu stuff, nothing."

"It makes sense," he said. "With the, uh… circumstances that brought you here."

He was right, of course he was, but…

"He never told me," I murmured, my brows furrowing and my grip on the cup tightening. "Why… why didn't he ever tell me?"

That was what got me, the fact that he had hidden it from me. There were never stray weapons lying around the house, he didn't use chakra to take shortcuts on the farm, his movements didn't hold the same kind of unnatural grace that most other shinobi had.

He had seemed so damn normal.

Had mama known? Had her family known when they agreed to let the two marry?

What the hell was a rouge shinobi—that was what he had to have been, as with a kekkei genkai came a clan, and with a clan came some kind of affiliation he had shirked in favor of a village life away from all things shinobi—doing in a Kiso, of all places?

I was bursting with questions and the fact that I'd never get those answers burned like nothing else.

"It was probably for your own good—you and your kaa-san."

"Not like it worked."

Maen stared.

His lips were parted like he wanted to say something, wanted to help, but couldn't find the right words. I blew out a breath between my lips and set my cup down on the table, slipping off of my chair, shuffling around the table, and crawling into his lap. Words may not have been Maen's strong suit, but he had developed into quite the competent cuddle-buddy under my tutelage. Really, he was damn lucky that physical comfort was just as, if not more effective, than emotional comfort when it came to calming me down, because if I had been somebody who needed soothing words he would have been screwed.

His arms wrapped around my torso and he settled his chin on top of my head.

"We'll figure it out, kiddo."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."


	9. Academy: Part 2

I wheezed, my hands braced on my knees.

The sun beat down on me, eliciting a further layer of sweat from my pores on top of what I had gained from running laps around the field.

Maen hadn't been exaggerating with the emphasis he put on laps when outlining my physical training—he had me running an absurd amount of them. In part, I believed it was because he could lounge off under a tree while I did them, passively watching as I ran, but I was aware of the more legitimate reason for having me do so as well.

I had to build up my endurance, and I had to do it fast. Most of the clan children who would make up my peers in one month's time, even Shikamaru, would have already started their shinobi training upwards of a year ago, which put me at a distinct disadvantage. Before beginning my training with Maen, I had no physical prowess to speak of; I was a bit of a lazy child. I liked to draw and sleep in the sun and, since gaining my chakra sense, observe the world through that lens.

Run around the village and play with other kids? Not my style.

That was why, between Maen and myself, I couldn't decide which of us had been more surprised when I found that I enjoyed the exertion.

I supposed it was the shinobi blood that ran through my veins.

After spending half an hour jogging around my lungs burned, my muscles ached, and my entire body was covered with the sheen of perspiration, but there was a smile on my face.

"How… many was that?" I asked, the words coming out between huffing breaths.

"Fifteen," Maen answered. "Two more than last week."

"Wonderful."

I walked the length of the field, letting my breathing even out and my muscles relax some. Five minutes passed when I collapsed beside Maen and languished under the shade that the foliage above provided. He let me lean against him, as he always did during the break I was allotted after my laps; training had become routine enough that he no longer had to push me through the motions, which was helpful for the days that Maen was gone on missions and wasn't there to lead me through it.

We got to the field at noon every second day. It started with a series of stretches, which he was slowly increasing the length of, to get me warmed up. That was followed by the basic conditioning he ran me through, push ups, sit ups, crunches, what have you. Then there were the laps, half an hour of jogging around the expansive field that stretched out from beside the Nara training grounds. When all of that was finished, the chakra work began, my practice with chakra control, my chakra sense, and my kekkei genkai. It was the same each time. The whole thing lasted an hour, sometimes a bit more, a length of time that was steadily increasing as time passed.

Maen turned to look at me when I pulled myself up off of the ground, stretching my arms above my head.

"Which do you want to do first?" he asked.

I thought on it. "Kekkei genkai," I decided. "I wanna be able to go home if I end up with a headache from working on my sense."

He nodded and stood, the two of us moving further into the clearing, away from all of the surrounding foliage that could interfere. We settled down across from each other, taking up identical positions with our legs crossed and our hands in our lap.

I let my eyes fall shut and focused on the resonant, rhythmic sound of Maen as he breathed. I felt the spark of chakra on my senses as his shadow shifted forward across the ground and connected with my own. My breath halted for a second then kicked back into gear, matching the beat of Maen's.

"Shadow Possession complete," he murmured, the words an afterthought, a habitual uttering that few Nara ever broke away from. "Ready?"

"Yeah."

"Alright," he said. "Just relax."

"I know."

It had been months of Maen using this technique to help me train my kekkei genkai. Still, I couldn't manage to get used to the sensation as my own chakra, my own shadow, crawled over my body, wrapping itself around me like a second skin. It wasn't comfortable but it wasn't uncomfortable, the energy pulsing and writhing, buzzing against my senses without overwhelming them.

Around my feet, up my legs, snaking across my abdomen. It branched off as it hit my chest, swallowing up my arms and my head simultaneously.

"I'm going to let go," Maen warned.

"I've got it."

The tagged on 'sort of' went unsaid with that statement.

Maen released the jutsu and my chakra immediately began to recede, curling outwards from the centre of my chest. I tried to hold onto it, maintain it, but it was hard, like trying to grasp onto air or catch water in your fist as it poured from a waterfall, the chakra slipping between my fingers despite my best efforts.

I managed to halt the chakra as it reached my ankles and wrists. At that point, the only things I was capable of keeping under the jutsu—technique—whatever—were my extremities. The chakra hovered over my hands and feet, wavering in my hold.

I let out a deep breath. I yanked at the chakra, fought to move it back up to where it had been. It moved up an inch, held for a half a breath, then the chakra collapsed entirely and fell away.

"Not bad," Maen said.

I opened my eyes. "How long was that?"

"Twenty seconds."

"Same as last time, then."

"Yeah."

I flopped back onto the grass. "Can I have a minute before we go again?"

"Sure, kiddo."

.

.

"How's her training been going?"

Maen turned to Shikaku, whose eyes were still resting on the two children cuddled up together under a tree. All Shikamaru and Kasumi ever seemed to do when they were together was sleep. Shikaku's house, his house, around the compound, at the park. They were like two puppies, and Maen swore that there mere sight of Shikamaru was enough to make Kasumi begin yawning by that point.

"Good," Maen answered. "Her athleticism is improving at a good rate. She's nearly doubled the amount of time she can run for, and how fast she can do it, since I started her on this regime."

"Huh. I didn't peg her as the type."

"Neither did I."

"Think her otou-san might have specialised in taijutsu?"

Maen shrugged. "Hard to say. Maybe? She inherited good chakra control too, as far as I can tell, so it's possible."

Shikaku's face soured. "You think they used augmented chakra taijutsu in combination with their kekkei genkai?"

"It's possible."

"That's a horrifying thought," he said. His expression shifted back to something more thoughtful. "Has she seen any improvement on that front?"

"Kekkei genkai?" Maen asked, and received a nod in reply. "Not really. She can hold it a bit longer, and she moved her chakra up a bit on her own earlier today, but that's as far as she's gotten."

Shikaku sighed. "The council's been badgering me for updates."

"Tell them to shove it."

"I did. You know how they are."

"Did you glare when you do it?"

Shikaku flapped a hand, leaning further back against the trunk of the tree. "Yeah, but they aren't fazed by that anymore."

"I don't believe that—you make jonin shit their pants with that glare."

"Jonin are one thing but Danzo Shimura is in a league all his own, the stubborn bastard."

"What does he care?"

"Hell if I know, but I already told him that if he wants further updates, he can go ask Hokage-sama, 'cause I'm not telling him anything."

"Neither will Hokage-sama."

"Exactly."

Maen sighed and rubbed his hand across his face. "What are they looking for? We're not even lying, we don't have any answers to give them."

"They're still set on prodding her to see if they can figure out what makes her tick."

"Over my dead body."

The dark look that flashed over Shikaku's features suggested he too felt something akin to that.

Maen knew what they'd be doing.

It had been recognised that, more than likely, her panic had been what triggered her ability to harness the kekkei genkai; since she had her pathways open she hadn't been able to use it herself. If he used his shadow to manipulate it and put it over her, she could hold parts of it, but only for a short period of time.

The fact of the matter was, they had essentially no information about her kekkei genkai.

The connection to her shadow was something the sensors had stumbled upon when they were brought in to help her learn to control her chakra sense. More than one had noted her shadow had an uncharacteristic charge of chakra to it. Everybody had some of their yin chakra stored in their shadow, as it was as much a part of the soul as anything else, but what she had stored there was not only more copious than it should have been, it was also abnormal in nature.

Maen hadn't understood what that meant until his first time using the Shadow Possession jutsu on her—he had actually failed on his first attempt which, at the time, had taken him off guard. Him, a jonin of Konoha, one of the top shinobi of his clan, had struggled to make a proper bond with her shadow on his first go. He couldn't recall the last time that had happened to him, but he was damn sure it hadn't been since he was a genin.

He got it on his second try, and was able to fully cover her in the kekkei genkai around his fourth or fifth, but he was still thrown off by the fact that he hadn't gotten it right away.

The chakra in her shadow, that made up her shadow, was like smoke. He could feel that it was there but it didn't come off as solid and corporeal in the way most shadows did. Shikaku had noted much the same thing, but he hadn't had any issues with getting a proper bond established.

Kasumi herself had even described it to be something along those lines when she tried to hold her kekkei genkai in place.

Maen knew from experience that it wasn't unusual for clans with a yin-based kekkei genkai to also develop a specialised form of yin chakra to accompany it. The Nara had special yin chakra, as did the Yamanaka, the Kurama, and the list went on. However, none were quite as volatile and distinct as hers was if the assessments from the sensors were any indication.

Those were the only blanks they had been able to fill in, something that the council was less than thrilled about. They saw a potential weapon that they wanted to wield when they looked at Kasumi, and he knew the extents to which they would go to if they were dead-set on figuring her kekkei genkai out.

They knew that panic would enable her to use it. That was information they'd take advantage of when trying to forcefully activate it.

Having both Shikaku and the Hokage on his side meant that their chance of getting at her was a resounding no way in hell, but the situation set him on edge all the same.

The sound of feet stomping across the field pulled Maen from his thoughts.

Yoshino stormed towards them, face set in a determined fury that reminded Maen that Shikaku wasn't the only person in his family who could make people soil themselves with a single, well-placed look.

"What did you do?"

Shikaku's skin was ashen. "I was supposed to pick up groceries for dinner when I was out in the village earlier."

"Ah. I'll make sure your grave is under a nice tree."

"Appreciated."

* * *

 

As we approached the Academy I let my sense open, scoping out the building—I regretted it some when a barrage of chakra was revealed to me, bright and bursting with energy in the way that only the signature of children seemed to manage, far more so than I had been expecting. Shinobi children, I supposed.

"See anything interesting?" Maen asked, tugging on my hand to get my full attention.

It dawned on me that I had spaced out and stopped walking. I closed my sense, shaking my head to clear it.

"Lots of kids."

"Brilliant observation."

I huffed. "You're always such a meanie."

"I concur," Shikaku said. He and Shikamaru were walking a few feet ahead of us. "You, dear cousin, are a meanie."

Maen let go of my hand, raising his palm to set it against my eyes. I couldn't see it, but I could feel the shift in his signature as he raised his free-hand, middle finger sticking up.

My sense had evolved in the two months since I'd gained them. That was aided by the fact that I spent a significant amount of my free-time meditating and making use of my sense. It had increased in range some but I struggled to give that range any type of numerical value—I just knew it was expanding. My ability to discern detail had skyrocketed, though, especially when my eyes were closed and I had nothing but the chakra displayed to me against the blank canvas of my mind.

Shikaku snorted.

"Why'd you do that?" I asked, unable to resist.

Maen's chakra signature jolted. "What?"

"I felt your hand do something weird—your middle finger went up."

Shikaku's signature jolted as well, but there was a churning in the way his chakra moved around him that I assumed signalled amusement. "Oh, you're dead if Yoshino finds out," Shikaku said.

Maen pulled his hand off my eyes and knelt down in front of me, his expression somber, his hands resting on my shoulders. "If you don't tell Yoshino-san that I did that, I won't make you help me with the dishes for a week."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Deal."

Maen ruffled my hair. "Good."

"How do you know I won't snitch on you?" Shikaku asked, tugging a half-asleep Shikamaru forward.

"If you do, I'll tell Yoshino who keeps eating her strawberries before she has the chance to pick them."

"You know?"

"I've watched you do it."

"Great," Shikaku grumbled. "Fine, fine. I'll keep my mouth shut."

Maen smirked down at me. "Just remember, kiddo—when in doubt, blackmail is always a good option."

I grinned. "Got it."

"You're awful."

.

.

The opening ceremonies were full of boring speeches and propaganda.

Shikamaru and I had been abandoned from the beginning, left to fend for ourselves while Maen and Shikaku made a break for it. We ended up finding Choji and Ino, both also abandoned by their respective parents, and sat with them throughout the entire thing.

I tuned out for most of it while Shikamaru conked out five minutes in, setting his head on my shoulder and snoring in my ear. I joined him in slumber for a few minutes near the end, too, before Ino jostled us awake with an annoyed squawk about "lazy Nara". I wasn't sure if she didn't know that Maen wasn't my birth parent—it wasn't like we looked alike, either—or if she knew and didn't care, but I wasn't going to be the one to correct her.

We some of the last ones to make it into the classroom.

Ino broke away from us and joined some other girls at a table. Shikamaru, Choji, and I made it to the back of the room before realising that it was only two people to a desk and that we couldn't all sit together.

At the table to the left of where we ended up sat a familiar blond, entirely on his own, eyes downcast.

Hello, plot.

It's lovely to see you.

Shikamaru and Choji looked between each other, then to me. I waved them off.

"I'll just sit here."

"You don't mind?" Choji asked.

"Nah," I said. "It's fine."

Shikamaru shrugged. "Whatever."

Naruto watched me sit down with a closed off, wary expression, his eyes darting around my face as if waiting for my features to twist into an expression of disgust and his shoulders squared in defiance.

There was no sunny grin on his face or exuberant cheering about his greatness.

That was the face of a five-year-old who had seen things no child should see, heard things no child should hear, hurt in ways no child should hurt. My heart clenched. His eyes, a brilliant blue as bright as the summer sky, weren't shining as he watched me stand there beside the desk table—they were dull.

I didn't bother stopping to consider the consequences of my actions as I set my bag beside the desk and plopped down into the seat, offering him a small smile. In that moment I didn't care because right in front of me was a child who needed a damn friend more than anything else in the world and I knew that nobody else would be willing to be there for him.

Could it have screwed things up? Maybe.

Could it have zero effect on the future of the world? Also maybe.

There wasn't any way to be certain, so what was the point in worrying about it—what I knew without a doubt, though was that nobody else would give him a chance, not for a long time, and that was all Naruto needed.

I'd been gotten mine already, so didn't he deserve to be given one too?

"Hi," I said. "My name's Kasumi."

"Naruto," he said.

"Cool."

I turned back to the front where Iruka was getting settled at his desk. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a grin break out over Naruto's face; the smile on my face widened.

It was a start.

* * *

"My face doesn't look like that."

"Yes, it does."

"Nu-uh!" Naruto protested, cheeks puffing out and arms crossing over his chest. "I'm way more handsome than that."

Shikamaru snorted. "No, you're not."

"This picture is plenty handsome!" I said, gesturing to the drawing pad. "I even got the whiskers right!"

"Those are whiskers?" Choji asked and leant forward off of the tree, squinting at the paper. "Oh."

"Aw, come on," I said. "I think this one is pretty good!"

"You've done better," Shikamaru answered. "That farm one you did a couple months ago was pretty good."

"Eh? Farm one?" Naruto asked.

He scooted closer, reaching for the sketch pad. I pulled it out of his range. "No grabbing."

"Awh, come on Kasumi-chan—I wanna see it!"

"Nope."

"Please?"

His lips jut out and his eyes went wide, hands clasped in front of him.

"That's not fair," I whined. "Don't—don't do that!"

Shikamaru snorted. "You're such a weakling."

"Those things are a weapon!" I hissed, forcing myself to look away. "You don't know because he never uses them on you."

"Wouldn't matter if he did."

I pulled the pad up and held it in front of me, blocking Naruto out of my view.

The fall breeze swept over us, rustling what few leaves were left on the trees in the park, chilled with a bite that foretold of the coming of winter despite the fact that the sun still shone bright in the sky.

"Just one quick look? Please?"

"It's just a picture, Naruto-kun."

"He only wants to see so bad 'cause you didn't just show it to him in the first place," Shikamaru drawled.

"Thank you, peanut gallery," I said. "Your input is always appreciated."

"Pretty please?"

"I kind of wanna see it too," Choji said.

I sighed. "Fine."

Naruto let out a whoop, sidling up beside me, Choji joining him.

I flipped through some of the pages, my eyes grazing over the images as I went, the images flashing past. None of them were particularly high-quality—pudgy kid hands could only do so much—but they were at least recognisable, and increased in skill the further into the book that I went.

That was especially true for the picture of the farmhouse. Shikamaru was right when he said that it was good—it was probably the best in the entire book, as I had spent weeks sketching it out from memory.

"Whoa," Naruto said.

His face hovered over the page, filling my sight with a shock of blonde hair.

"I've never seen a farm," Choji admitted over a mouthful of chips. He sat back, so as not to get any food on the paper. "Did you base it off of a picture from a book?"

Shikamaru was watching me now.

"No," I said. "That's my old home."

"Oh."

"Whoa! You lived on a farm? That's so cool!"

"Yeah," I murmured.

I traced a finger across the image, the movement measured and soft to avoid smudging the lines.

The fact that the picture in front of me held more details than I could truly recall in that moment made staring at it all the more painful. My memories were fading. I knew they would, I was no stranger to that sort of mental disruption, but that didn't change the fact that with each passing day my parent's faces grew harder to recall, that the images of my old home grew blurrier, and that it fucking burned.

I had pencilled out equally detailed portraits of my parents in the book, had drawn out every single memory from Kiso that I could with painstaking care, but the pictures weren't enough. They couldn't replace the memories.

"So, wait, what are you doing in Konoha—"

"What time were we supposed to be back?" Shikamaru asked.

I looked up at the sky, grateful for the interruption. "Five minutes ago."

"Troublesome," he muttered. "We should really get going, then."

I stared at him. We really were running late, but the timing was too pointed to have been a coincidence.

Wasn't it?

That was the thing with trying to decipher the actions of a certified five-year-old genius—it was impossible to know what could and couldn't be attributed to his heightened intelligence. He acted like a lazier version of most other children his age, but every once and a while, an unnerving level of awareness would show itself in Shikamaru, making him sound more like an adult than a kid.

Given how nonchalant Maen had always been whenever my facade cracked and I revealed a little too much of my thought process, I had begun to wonder whether this was commonplace with Nara children. Or, perhaps, I wasn't all that far above what was normal for shinobi children.

Shinobi were odd, as were their genetics—there were different expectations in place when it came to the intelligence of shinobi children. Chakra aided in the development of the entire body, after all, and the brain was included in that. There was a reason that civilian children had a harder time in the Academy.

My thought process steadily derailing, I forced my mind back into focus.

"Uh, yeah. See you guys tomorrow."

"Goodbye," Choji said.

Naruto blinked at the abrupt end of the conversation, the smile on his face dimming and his eyebrows knitting together, but still echoed Choji's words as he waved goodbye to Shikamaru and I.

Rather than stew on the situation, I asked, "Did you do that on purpose?"

He gave me a sidelong look, hands shoved in his pockets and head tilted up to watch the sky as the sun faded from view. "What?"

"Remember that we were supposed to leave right at that exact moment when Naruto-kun was getting a bit nosy."

His shoulders lifted. "Maybe," he drawled.

"Maybe?"

"Maybe."

"You're so annoying sometimes, Shika-chan."

"You're one to talk."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I dunno."

"No, no—you do know. You always know."

He yawned. "You're doing it."

"Doing what?"

"It."

I let out a sigh. "And everybody says I'm the brat."

"I mean—"

"Finish that sentence and I'll make you regret it."

"So troublesome," he groaned, though there was a smirk on his face that made me question whether or not he meant it.

Once again, I found myself questioning whether he was bickering for the sake of bickering, bickering for the sake of diverting me from the question, or bickering for the sake of getting my mind off of any other thoughts that might be brought on by the picture of the farmhouse, which was still staring up at me from the open sketchpad.

I preferred to go with the first option, as that was the only option that didn't involve a five-year-old walking verbal circles around me.

.

.

"Maen!"

The man turned in time to brace himself as I threw myself at him, arms forming a vice-grip around his leg and burying my face into the fabric of his pants. He wheezed out a laugh, detaching me from his thigh and lifting me up, propping me against his hip instead.

"Hey," he murmured, a small smile on his face. "How've you been?"

My hands came down against his cheeks, one palm pressing against each side of his face. He raised an eyebrow but didn't pull away.

I ignored the question. "Meanie," I said. "You said three weeks."

"It wasn't my fault," he answered. The words were muffled due to the fact that I hadn't moved my hands from his face. "It was somebody else."

"It's true," Shikaku said as he entered the room. "There was some stupid chunin—"

"Shikaku!" Yoshino cried from the kitchen.

"Stupid's not a bad word!"

"Badmouthing a comrade is poor manners!"

"Idiot deserves it," Shikaku muttered under his breath. He cleared his throat. "There was a chunin on his team who was causing trouble."

The pout on my face disappeared and was replaced by a frown. "You're not hurt, right?"

"I'm fine," Maen said, pulling my hands from his face—there was scruff on his cheeks, meaning he likely hadn't done more than shower since getting back. "Nothing bad happened, we just got slowed down a little."

"Oh. Okay." My head peeked over his shoulder, my attention drawn to the distant sizzling that drifted from the kitchen, the sound of food cooking on a pan. "Does Yoshino-san need help with dinner?"

"I'm fine, sweetheart. Don't worry about it," she answered, poking her head around the corner for long enough to give me a smile before going back to work.

I wrapped my arms around Maen's neck and nuzzled my face against his shoulder—I wasn't going to complain.

I hadn't seen him in a month, longer than I'd ever gone without him. Just feeling his signature brushing up against my sense was welcome, the familiarity of his chakra like a blanket wrapping over me, warm and comforting. I let that hold my thoughts—Maen wasn't telling me everything and neither was Shikaku. There were few things that could slow a mission down for an entire week, none of which were good.

It was better to focus on the positive, though, the fact that Maen was back and he was unhurt, instead of letting myself get distracted by the hypothetical negative results that could have come about, that Maen may not have come back at all, or that he may have come back gravely injured. He was a jonin, doing high ranking missions—the fact that he hadn't yet returned from a mission and required immediate hospitalisation was something of a miracle. If I let myself worry about what could happen each time he went on a mission I'd never be able to function during those spans of time.

The two men settled down to a game of shogi.

Shikaku and I both watched; Shikamaru was nestled in the lap of his father while I had situated myself in Maen's.

My grasp on the rules of shogi was shaky at best. I followed as well as I could, with some assistance from both Maen and Shikaku, but I found myself getting lost at some point during the game and giving up on following. Instead, I listened to the sounds of pieces clanking against the game board, the two men bickering, and dinner being made in the background, feeling my eyelids grow heavy and my shoulders ease.

Maen raised a hand to run it through my hair, his eyes not wavering from the board in front of him. It was an unconscious movement, habitual, formed through the sheer volume of time I spent using him as a human pillow.

The thought brought a smile to my face.

It was moments like that where the weight against my chest, put there by the loss of my memories, of my old life in Kiso, didn't feel quite so heavy anymore.


	10. Academy: Part 3

Iruka sighed, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of his tea, the paper falling from his fingertips, drifting through the air until it landed atop the stack of tests in front of him.

It was such a nice spring day, too, and there he was, stuck inside grading and fretting over his kids, giving himself premature grey hairs. He could have been out in the sun, grabbing a bite to eat with friends or training while the weather was agreeable.

"Something the matter?"

Iruka looked to the other side of the teacher's lounge, locating the source of the voice.

A set of brown eyes were on him. Their owner was twirling a strand of hair, which was the exact same shade as her eyes, around her finger.

"Ah, it's nothing to worry about, Kimi-san," he said, a sheepish smile on his face. "One of my students just got a poor test score, is all."

Kimi pushed aside her own impressive tower of marking and walked over to the table he was sitting at, picking up the offending test. "Kasumi Kurosawa," she read off. "She's not from a shinobi family. I was expecting one of the clan heirs, with how many of them you got, or that Uzumaki kid—why are you worried over a civilian kid's scores?"

"She's still my student," Iruka said, unable to keep all the bite from his tone. He forgot sometimes that not all of his fellow teachers bothered with the less 'important' students. "I care about all their scores."

Kimi held up her hands, her eyebrows doing the same. "Alright, alright."

Iruka took the test from her and another sigh left his lips. "Besides, she's under the care of a Nara, so she is from a shinobi clan—she just doesn't have their name."

"Huh. Well, shouldn't it be an easy problem to fix, then? Just have her genius caretaker tutor her."

"She doesn't need tutoring, she needs motivation," Iruka muttered.

Kimi snorted. "So she's not a Nara by blood, but she is in spirit?"

"Yeah." His eyes grazed over the page again. "She's smart, I know she is. If she picked up her academic scores she'd be able to move up a grade, no problem—she's up near the top of her class in physical scores, a bit behind the Uchiha. She uses strategy when she fights, so I know she's capable of analytical thinking. Her reading comprehension is at least a year above her own age, so that's not an issue, either. Yet she barely pulls out a passing grade on her tests."

"She's bored and she doesn't care," Kimi summed up. "Does her caretaker know?"

Iruka let his head hit the back of the chair, recalling the conversation he had had with Maen Nara during Kasumi's first year. "He doesn't think it's an issue."

"Shocking."

"I don't really know what to do."

"Do nothing." Iruka looked at her and she shrugged. "You said it yourself, she still passed. It's not like there's anything academically valuable in the first three years—it's just about spreading the message of the Will of Fire and ensuring the kids get decent social skills."

"There are some important things to know."

"Like?"

"Foundational mathematics," Iruka said. "History. Basic biology."

"She's taijutsu heavy," Kimi answered, "she doesn't need the first two. She'll only need the basics of biology if she has a hyper-precise form of taijutsu, but even then, there's nothing there that she can't learn later."

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

"I know I'm right." She paused, tilting her head. "Is she the same about her kunoichi classes?"

Iruka didn't know.

He pushed his chair back, pulling his bag closer to him and opening it. He had brought along the files so he could mark their grades as he went, but at that moment, he wanted them for a different reason. His thumb brushed over her name and he grabbed at the file, setting it on the table in front of him, flicking it open.

When he bent down to put his bag back Kimi snatched up the file and began rifling through it.

"Average grades in flower arranging, average grades in music performance—oh, excellent grades in dancing and politics," Kimi listed off. "Artistry, too. The kid can draw a damn good profile."

Iruka took the file back from her. "Oh, huh."

"She could have a future in infiltration," Kimi said. "She seems suited to undercover work."

"Ah, no, I don't think so."

"Really? Why?"

"She uh… she's got something of an abrasive personality. A bit of a hair temper."

Kimi waved a hand. "So does Anko Mitarashi and look at how much success she's had."

Iruka's face flushed bright red. "I don't think—"

"I know, most of her mission have a seduction element to them, but hey—if the kid turns out hot, she'll be fine."

"What—I don't—that's—"

Kimi smirked, cocking a hip and placing her hand on it, her expression haughty. "You're so easily flustered, Iruka-san."

"You shouldn't talk about a seven-year-old like that!"

"Why not? They're gonna grow up eventually and seduction is a perfectly valid line of profession."

"No, I'm not—I don't think there's anything wrong with doing seduction work—"

"Yeah, yeah," Kimi said. "You're just proving my point with all of that stuttering."

"Go finish your work, Kimi-san."

Kimi turned on her heels and strut away, waving a hand over her shoulder. "Fine. I can see where I'm not wanted."

* * *

Shikamaru was roused from sleep when he heard his door crack open.

There was a brief second of light streaming in, glaring against his closed eyes. He groaned and ducked his head under his covers, turning away towards his wall, sleep keeping him from doing more than act on instinct.

He heard a muttered, "Shit."

There was the sound of a switch being flicked and the light died away; Shikamaru stayed where he was. It was warm under his covers.

He had a blanket cocoon. He liked his blanket cocoon.

Footsteps moving across his bedroom floor, a pillow being placed beside his, and somebody tugging the blanket free from where it was wrapped around his leg. The night air snuck in and he let out a whine, pawing at whoever was there.

"Hurr'up," he murmured, his words slurred.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm going."

Shikamaru shifted, waking up a little—her voice sounded off.

She crawled in beside him and pressed her face into his back, wrapping her arms around his stomach. Something damp leaked through the fabric of his shirt and hit his back.

She was crying.

That realisation, too, pulled his mind further into awareness.

The words of his father echoed in his ears, words that had been spoken to him nearly three years ago, after the first time Kasumi had stayed over at his house. He couldn't remember them perfectly, but the words 'hug' and 'crying girl' had stuck in his mind. He could make the connections from there.

Troublesome.

He turned and threw an arm over her, goosebumps rising up along the spot where their skin met—she was ice cold.

"You're too cold… gonna take all the warm…"

"You're so dramatic."

"Nu-uh…"

"Go back to sleep, Shika-chan." There was a pause. She adjusted to his new position, her arms circling his chest instead of his waist, her legs curling up so that her toes were brushing against his thighs. "Drool on me and you die."

"Shuddup…"

He knew she wouldn't actually follow through with that threat, but he still made a point of pulling his pillow further down before he let himself fall back into slumber.

Just in case.

* * *

 

Naruto watched the events unfold a few feet away with wide eyes. "Wow… she's really cool, huh?"

Shikamaru cracked one eye open, took in the scene in front of them, and closed it again. "Yeah, I guess."

Choji wrung his hands together, his chip bag sitting empty beside him. "She's going to get in trouble," he murmured. "We should stop her."

"I'm not doing it—I don't wanna get punched," Shikamaru said.

"Naruto-kun, you go," Choji said. "She won't punch you."

"No way! I wanna see this."

A few feet away, the boy on the ground was flailing his limbs, trying to yank his arms free and kicking his legs out. Kasumi had both of his wrists in her hands and was dodging his kicks, hopping around him. When she could manage she would kick out at his shins, slamming the sole of her foot against the bone.

Naruto couldn't make out everything she was saying, but he could catch the snippets of her words that the wind carried their way.

"Idiot… calling him a monster… you don't even… stupid brat… little shit…"

The school ground was empty save for their group. Everybody else had gone inside when the lunch bell sounded.

They would have gone inside, too, if it wasn't for the idiot that Kasumi was kicking senseless at that moment.

"She really shouldn't do that," Choji said. "My tou-san said we're supposed to use our words to solve our problems, not violence."

Naruto thought that was a funny advice from shinobi—using violence to solve their problems was literally the whole point of being a shinobi—but he didn't say that out loud. He knew Choji could get upset sometimes when he said the wrong stuff, which he did a lot, and he didn't like to make Choji upset 'cause Choji was so nice, so he just kept his mouth shut.

"He swung first," Shikamaru put in. "Plus, she's not even trying."

"Eh, you think?" Naruto asked.

Shikamaru waved a hand, not even bothering to look. "I've seen her train with Maen-nii, this is nothing."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"She's gonna get in trouble," Choji repeated. He was chewing on his fingernails in lieu of snacks. "We really should stop her."

"She might get in a bit of trouble with Iruka-sensei, but Maen-nii won't care, so it doesn't really matter."

The kid whined as Kasumi's foot connected with his leg again. Naruto didn't get it—the kid wasn't even bleeding, what was he crying about?

"He's being a bit of a baby," Naruto said. "She's just kicking his shins, and Shika-chan even said she's holding back. Why doesn't he just break her grip or… like… fight back?"

Shikamaru snorted. "Have you ever tried to break her grip?"

Naruto rubbed the back of his neck. "Eh, no?"

"It's hard to do," Shikamaru said. "My tou-san made me spar with her once... it was horrible."

Their taijutsu scores had too big of a difference for them to ever get paired up during class. Naruto had watched her fight with the other kids but he'd never sparred with her, and he hadn't ever wanted to try—she was scary. He didn't think she'd ever hurt him. She liked him.

Still, watching her beat that kid up solidified the idea in his head that he had a super cool, super strong friend.

The thought brought a grin to his face.

"Kasumi-chan!"

At the sharp words, Kasumi started, jumping away from the other boy and turning towards the source of the noise.

Iruka stalked past their group. He headed straight to where Kasumi stood, her shoulders squared and her hands fisted at her side, expression defiant. The boy had picked himself up off the ground and was glaring at the back of Kasumi's head, a couple of stray tears trailing down his face.

"Sensei!" the boy cried. "She was hitting me!"

"Yes, I saw," Iruka said. His gaze moved to Kasumi—Naruto was familiar enough with Iruka that he knew that, even without having a clear view of his face, Iruka was mad. "Explain yourself, now."

Kasumi didn't cower. "He started it," she said. "I was defending myself."

"What? No way!" the boy shouted. "She started it!"

"No I didn't," she snapped.

"You came up to me and started yelling and me and stuff, you were threatening me—"

"Okay, no," Kasumi said. "He's lying, Iruka-sensei, 'cause he knows that if he tells the truth he's gonna get in trouble."

"Tell me what happened."

"Toya was calling Naruto names—said he was a monster, that he should just go and die. I told Toya to stuff it and leave. Toya hit me—"

"You were threatening me!"

"Don't interrupt her," Iruka said. "Keep going, Kasumi-chan."

"Toya hit me and so I was just defending myself, honest."

Iruka pinched the bridge of his nose. "That looked like it went a bit past self-defence, don't you think?"

Kasumi opened her mouth to reply, paused, shut it again, and pursed her lips.

Naruto liked to call that her 'thinking face'.

"Yeah, it did," she answered. "He was being an idiot, though, Iruka-sensei."

"You can't just hit people."

"I know, you've already told me that. Does that mean I have to apologise now? 'Cause I'm not really sorry."

Naruto saw Iruka raise his hand up and move down his face, a sigh leaving his lips. "Yes, Kasumi-chan, you have to apologise."

Her mouth pulled into a scowl, her entire face morphing into an expression of distaste. "Fine," she said. She turned her head to look at Toya while the rest of her body stayed still. "I'm sorry, Toya-kun."

Naruto saw that, behind her back where it wasn't visible to Iruka, she had her pointer and middle fingers crossed.

"Toya-kun," Iruka said. "Accept her apology. Then I want you to apologise to her and Naruto-kun."

Toya's face scrunched up like he'd taken a bite out of a lemon. "I accept your apology. I'm sorry, too," he bit out. He turned to Naruto and his expression intensified. "I'm sorry for being mean to you, Naruto-kun."

Naruto scowled—he wasn't buying it. "Quit lying!"

Kasumi snickered but was silenced by a look from Iruka.

"Naruto-kun," Iruka said. "You have to accept his apology."

"What, why? It's not like he means it."

"That doesn't matter—you're supposed to accept it and move on."

"He's right, Naruto-kun," Choji whispered from beside him. "It's the right thing to do."

Naruto crossed his arms over his chest. He didn't want to do it but Iruka was giving him that look, the one that meant that there was no weaselling his way out of things.

"Eh, I accept your apology, or whatever."

Iruka turned his eyes skyward, as if there was anybody up there who would actually take pity on him.

"That'll have to do, I guess. Inside, the lot of you—I'll be seeing you after class, though, Kasumi-chan and Toya-kun. We're going to have a talk about this, and I'll be alerting your guardians."

* * *

 

Sasuke hit the ground hard, his back slamming against the mat. Distantly, he heard squealing and screaming of the female variety, which he ignored on reflex.

A hand entered his line of sight and he reached up to grab it, letting the owner of it haul him to his feet.

"That was a good match, Sasuke-kun," Kasumi said, a crooked grin on her face. "You almost got me."

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

He turned to where his stalkers, the ones with blonde and pink hair—he refused to use their names or refer to them as his fangirls, even in his own head, because he thought it was giving them more than they deserved—were watching the interaction. Both were glaring at Kasumi, who had taken to shaking out her limbs and stretching, still favouring Sasuke with that same look.

"Round two?" she asked. "There's no way you're done already."

"As if I would be done after one fight," he said, putting his attention back on her and as he moved into position.

"Good," she said. "This is the last chance we're getting to spar this year and I wanna be able to tell Maen that I kicked your ass twice in a row."

From across the gymnasium came a cry of, "Language, Kasumi-chan!"

"Sorry, Iruka-sensei!"

"You got lucky," he told her, ignoring her exchange with Iruka.

He knew it was a lie, he was fairly certain that she knew it was a lie, but he refused to admit, out loud, that she could beat him without getting lucky.

He wouldn't do it.

She was a strong fighter, the second-best in their year, second only to him, but she had a civilian name and the Uchiha had a reputation to uphold—there was no way that a civilian born shinobi could be as good as him.

"Right, sure," she said. "If that's what you need to think to keep you happy."

She cracked her knuckles and her neck.

"Shut up and fight, Kurosawa," he said.

Her grin widened. "Gladly."


	11. Academy: Part 4

"Whenever you're ready, kiddo."

"Okay," I said.

Deep breathe in, deep breathe out.

The world around me danced with chakra in every direction, pulsing and chafing against my sense, but I focused my attention on the blot in front of me—my own chakra. The chunk of my yin chakra that was given shape by the evening sun behind me.

I reached out to touch the shadow that was splayed across the grass in front of me and pulled.

The chakra slipped away at first, refusing to be harnessed, but I was resolute and I kept grabbing and tugging and yanking it towards me, coaxing it onto the tip of my fingers. There wasn't anywhere near as much resistance as there used to be. That said, it was a struggle to initiate the technique.

Once the first prick of chakra coated the pad of my middle finger it grew more malleable, more willing, curling out towards my touch. Three seconds ticked by as I weaved an unstable coat of armour over every inch of my skin with the chakra, forcing it into the form of my desire.

It remained intact for two seconds and shattered. The chakra streamed off of my skin and pooled on the ground beside me, retaking its place as my shadow.

I rocked back into a sitting position and closed off my chakra sense, staring at Shikaku and Maen.

"So you have to touch it?" Shikaku asked, thumbing the goatee that sprouted from his chin. "That's the only way you can do it by yourself?"

"Yeah."

"Interesting," he murmured.

"My hands are the easiest, right now, just 'cause I can actually see it and it's a small area," I explained. I looked down at my hand, flexing my fingers. "I can watch the chakra attach to my fingers and how it moves up from there—that's the hard part, the first bit. Once I've got a decent hold it's easier for me to control it."

"Your ability to use it is coinciding with your actual chakra control, right?" Shikaku asked. At my nod his attention turned to Maen. "How's she doing there?"

"She's improving quickly," Maen answered. "She's got a strong grasp on the leaf exercise. I'm going to try her on tree-walking soon."

"You think she can do it?"

Maen shrugged. "Doesn't really matter—the practice of gathering her chakra at her feet is going to be useful to her regardless."

Shikaku's head bobbed in a slow nod. "Her feet are what touch her shadow when she's standing up," he said, making the leap in logic. "If she can harness her chakra in her feet then she can more easily use her kekkei genkai when she's standing up. Plus, just working on it'll be a source of practice for her chakra control, so it's a two in one."

"Exactly."

"Can we start now?" I asked.

Both men turned to look at me.

"Well," Maen said, "we've got time, so I don't see why not."

Maen stretched out from his spot on the ground, his body emitting a string of pops and cracks that had me cringing.

"Nasty," I muttered.

Maen took the liberty of smacking me behind the head as he ambled towards one of the largest trees in the area.

"Get over here, kiddo," he said. "Before I die of old age."

"You're well on your way already."

That was a lie, as Maen's twenty-sixth birthday had passed a month prior, but the comment elicited a snort from Shikaku.

"Hilarious," Maen said. "Hurry up."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm coming."

I crossed the clearing to where he was standing.

The shade of the tree stretched out, encompassing both of us with room to spare. The trunk of the tree was vast and devoid of branches for twenty feet, give or take, leaving more than enough room for me to practice.

"There's not a lot for me to tell you, really," Maen said. "You need to gather the chakra on the sole of your foot in a thick enough layer that you'll stick to the tree. Too thin and you'll fall, too thick and you'll destroy the tree trunk."

Maen lifted one leg and placed his foot against the tree, leaning back so that his hold on the bark was what kept him standing.

I released my grasp on my chakra sense and peered as his foot, noting the layer of chakra that danced around the bottom of his foot, two or three millimetres thick, a compact cluster of chakra that kept him anchored to the tree.

"Alright," I said.

"You're not going to get it the first time," he said.

"I know."

"Then have at it."

I sat down at the base of the tree and turned my attention to my feet.

Wielding chakra was like making use of any other muscle. I had the added bonus of being able to see it while I worked and thus had a heightened level of accuracy, but calling on the chakra had its challenges nonetheless. Being able to see your arm move as you did a pushup didn't mean that the pushup was any easier, but it did mean you could watch your arm as you did it, ensuring that your arm was in the correct position to maximise the effort.

That was, in essence, how my sense aided me.

I wouldn't need trial and error in the same way others would as I'd know before stepping on the tree whether or not I was going to stick.

I sat there, staring at my feet, watching the charka ebb and pulse around the bottom of my foot and touching them to the trunk every so often.

There were a couple of times in which I got close to the right amount, had my feet stay in place for a couple of seconds, but then the connection would falter or my foot would come away with nothing but a chunk of bark sticking to it, and I would be back at square one. That had been expected. In a week's time, perhaps two, I would be walking up trees without any issue, I was confident in that.

I could wait.

.

.

"Three hours," Shikaku murmured, casting his eyes up to the sun. "That's a long time to be training."

"Maybe. I'm sure she's not the only one her age that trains for that long, though," Maen said. His lips itched to fall into a frown but he held them straight. "Some of the clans push their kids pretty hard."

"Fair enough," Shikaku answered. "Do you always have her going for that long?"

Maen bit back a sigh—he sensed an incoming lecture.

Kasumi's retreating back was visible to them. She had been sent off to retrieve Shikamaru and the game boards, a task that could take anywhere from five minutes to fifty minutes, depending on the prior of the two.

Maen hadn't thought much of Shikaku tasking her with that rather than going himself. That wasn't unusual, in and of itself. Shikaku had a glint in his eye, though, and was taking the conversation down a path that had one destination, causing Maen to suspect there was an ulterior motive to his action.

"Most days. Some last less, if practicing with her chakra sense gives her a headache, and some go on for a bit longer if she gets stuck on something. She doesn't like to finish until she's happy with her progress."

Shikaku sighed. "Don't you think you might be pushing her a bit hard?"

Maen propped himself up into an upright position, settling his weight on his elbow. "I push her as hard as she lets me," he said. "She likes it. I used to have her only going three or four days a week but she wanted to start training everyday. She asked me to start her on more kata, more stretching, more conditioning. If there was ever a point where she didn't want to keep going as hard she'd have no issue just telling me."

Shikaku held up his hands. "Alright, alright. Just wanted to be sure."

"Trust me, I know where her limits are," Maen said. "I won't let her burn herself out."

"You do have to admit, though, that she does push herself harder than most other kids her age."

"Spite's a powerful motivator."

Shikaku raised an eyebrow. "Spite?"

"Yeah," Maen said. "You know about Uchiha brat in her class?"

"Fugaku's spawn?"

"That's the one."

"I've heard a bit about him. Top of their class, prodigy, all of that."

"Yeah, and he's a snotty little shit," Maen said.

Shikaku smirked. "Shikamaru-kun said as much."

"They ended up as sparing partners by the end of the first year. He's had the top physical scores in their class from the first day. Kasumi-chan had beat the other kids, which was why Iruka-san started pairing the two of them up, but she was still a ways from being on his level."

"She spent the entire summer between her first and second year training," Shikaku recalled. "That was the first time I really started to notice it."

"She wouldn't say why, at first," Maen said. "She just told me that she wanted to be ready for her second year."

"But?"

"Turns out the Uchiha told her that 'cause she was female and civilian born, she'd never be able to beat him."

"You're serious."

"Completely."

"He really is a little shit," Shikaku muttered. "That's… such an Uchiha thing to say."

"Yeah. She took it better than I would have thought—I mean, she didn't just deck him then and there, which is pretty good—but it lit a fire under her ass. She wanted to prove him wrong."

"Did she end up doing that?" Shikaku asked.

"She's beaten him, but he wins more often than not."

"She doesn't want to just beat him a couple of times, then," Shikaku said. "She wants to be better than him."

"Maybe," Maen said. "I'd like to think she's moved past that and does it for the sake of training, at this point, but it's hard to say."

"She's an interesting one, alright."

Maen scratched the back of his head. He rolled onto his back, staring up at the sky.

Interesting. Yeah, he'd go with that.

Yeah, he'd go with that.

.

.

"Are you trying to box me in?"

"I dunno," I said. "Is it working?"

Shikamaru placed a piece at the edge of my formation, blocking my advance. "No."

I fell back against the grass with a groan, staring up at the sky as I sulked.

The sun had sunk below the horizon, heralding in the evening with purple skies and a chilled breeze. That was my favourite type of evening. Not cold enough to require more than a t-shirt, but not warm enough that I was uncomfortable and sweating from the heat.

It was a shame that it was being ruined by a board game.

"When somebody asks you about your strategy," Maen said from his spot a few feet away, "you not supposed to answer them."

"You say that like it matters," I grumbled. "He's gonna beat me no matter what I try."

"She has a point," Shikaku drawled, peeking over his son's shoulder at the board. "He secured a win about three moves ago."

There was a clatter of stones as Shikamaru wiped the board clean.

"Why am I doing this?" I wondered aloud.

"You're the one who wanted to learn how to play Go," Maen said.

"I just wanted to know the rules so I'd understand what was going on when you guys played—I don't give a shit about playing myself."

A Go piece arched through the air and landed smack in the middle of my forehead. I yelped, my hand rising to rub at the spot.

"No swearing," Shikaku said.

"C'mon," I whined. "Maen lets me."

"Stop spoiling her," Shikaku said, picking up another piece and tossing it at Maen with the intent to kill. Maen tipped far enough to the side that the stone sailed past him, his eyes staying locked on the pages in front of him. "You're creating a monster."

"She's just expanding her vocabulary," Maen answered. He moved his book down far enough that I could see the smirk on his face. "Plus, it's kinda cute."

"No, it's not," Shikaku said. "This is your fault, you should be trying to fix it."

"Why fix what isn't broken?"

"An eight-year-old shouldn't be swearing."

"I was swearing when I was eight."

"That's not good enough justification."

"It's Kiba-kun's fault," I said. "He's the one I'm picking it up from."

Another piece, nailing me in the exact same spot as the last. "Don't cover for him."

I scrambled up off the ground and threw myself behind Maen, letting him serve as my human meat-shield should Shikaku decide to launch further offensives.

"He does swear a lot," Shikamaru said. "He even says fu—"

Shikaku clapped a hand over his son's mouth before he could get the word out, groaning. "This is hopeless."

"They're just words," I said.

"They're bad words," Shikaku countered. "They're impolite."

"And?"

"Right, of course," he said. "I'm talking to a gaki who wouldn't know manners if they smacked her upside the head."

I poked Maen in the back. "Defend me," I hissed. "He's being mean."

"He's not wrong," Maen said.

"What? Come on!"

"Hey, I won't get after you for your bad manners, but I won't act like they don't exist."

"Traitor."

* * *

 

Shikamaru trudged through the doors to the Academy building beside me, his head dipping forward and his eyes half-lidded.

I poked his arm. "You're not sleep-walking, are you?" I asked.

"No."

"Good," I said. "I don't feel like having to drag you into your seat."

He grunted, a sound that could mean anything from 'okay' to 'stop talking'.

On most days the former was a safe bet. With it being the first full day back at school, though, Shikamaru was in as close as he could get to a sour mood, so it was worth at least considering the latter as well. He wasn't a morning person on the best of days but the end of summer intensified that.

We were two of the last people to get to class, the room full of chattering children that were audible halfway down the hall. Most of them ignored our arrival, save for two groups.

In the far corner of the room a group of girls—which was comprised of every girl in our class except for myself and Hinata, my lone companion in sanity—turned to look at us as we walked through the door. There was chittering, glaring, and various other shows of distaste aimed at me, none of which hit their mark.

I had noted that, in their mutual dislike for me, they had been united. The girls who had bullied Sakura ceased doing so at the end of our first year in the Academy. Ino and Sakura were still close friends, despite having both developed affections—they were not romantic feelings, children were not capable of developing romantic feelings—for Sasuke.

In the race for Sasuke, I had become the common enemy, despite the fact that I wasn't even attempting to compete.

I had yet to decide if that was hilarious or horrifying.

The other group to glance my way were four boys that had spent the early Academy years bullying Naruto, led by Toya, the boy whose shins I had kicked in the previous year. While I hadn't felt good about beating up a little kid, it wasn't as if I had hurt him—he had a couple of bruises the next day to show for the incident but nothing more.

All I had wanted was to send a message to him and that's what I did. After that day, him and his cronies hadn't dared say a word to Naruto, nor had any other kid from our class, and that was what mattered to me. If they had to be afraid of little old me for the sake of staying off Naruto's back, that was a small price to pay.

Not that I felt that bad about scaring them—they were brats, even if the fault for that was with their parents.

"Good morning, Toya-kun," I said as we walked past, giving a small wave to him and his friends.

The four of them stiffened. Toya turned to look at me but the other three looked down at their desks rather than meet my eye.

How rude.

"Kasumi-chan," Toya said.

Shikamaru tugged on my sleeve. "C'mon."

I turned to look at him and saw a hint of a smirk on his face even as he pulled me away.

"Fine," I said. "Ruin my fun, why don't you."

Naruto and Choji were waiting for us at the back of the room. They were sitting at the same desk, chatting with each other, but they broke apart when Shikamaru and I made it to them. Naruto took one desk while Choji got up and lumbered over to the empty table beside it, as was usual.

"Morning boys," I said, taking my seat beside Naruto.

"Hi!" Choji said.

To my right, the sound of Shikamaru collapsing into his seat was followed by a thud as his forehead slammed against the table.

Naruto grinned. "Morning."

Up at the front of the room, Iruka threw the door open, walking in with a stack of papers in one hand and a red pen in the other.

"Welcome back from your summer vacation, class," he said, stopping in front of his desk. "It's time for a pop quiz."

.

.

"Kasumi-chan."

I paused, one foot planted in the hallway on my way out to the schoolyard. "Yes, Iruka-sensei?"

"We need to talk."

"Ah, really?"

"Yes."

I waved at Naruto, Shikamaru, and Choji. "I'll meet you guys outside."

The three of them marched on without me, Naruto snickering—"Kaka's in trouble, Kaka's in trouble!"—and Choji muttering to himself—"She did it again!"—as they made their way outside.

There was a familiar sheet of paper sitting in front of Iruka on his desk.

"You passed this quiz by one mark," he said. "You left the rest of the questions blank."

"But I passed."

He exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yes, Kasumi-chan, but you and I both know you could have done far better on this quiz if you bothered to try harder."

"It's the first quiz of the year—you never take the marks from them."

"And if I started to do that today?"

I shrugged. "Oh, well."

"How am I supposed to know where your academic level is when you won't show it to me?" he asked. "That's what these are for, you know. I take the marks from them and use them to find out where the class needs improvement."

"Then just ignore mine," I said. "I don't pay attention in class anyways."

"Which is the problem! You could be the top kunoichi in your year if you applied yourself academically."

"You've got way too much faith in me, Iruka-sensei."

"I don't," he said. "Your intelligence is high enough that you could beat out Sakura-chan, I know that."

I frowned, crossing my arms over my chest. "How come you're only getting after me?" I asked. "Shika-chan is worse than I am, but you don't go hounding him."

"Shikamaru-kun isn't somebody I can motivate, but you are. You apply yourself in your physical work, your taijutsu and your weapon throwing. But in class, you read your own books instead of the assigned work and doodle—"

"I don't doodle," I cut in, my fingers tightening around the sketch pad I had clutched in my hand, my mind bringing up the image of the updated portrait of mama I had worked on rather than complete my quiz, "I draw."

He blinked, his jaw rising to shut his open mouth, the rest of his words lost. A beat of silence passed.

"Right. You—you sit and draw instead of listening when I'm teaching or doing your class assignments."

"I still pass everything."

"You're capable of doing more than pass! That's—that's what I've been trying to say."

"But unless I fail, Iruka-sensei, there's nothing you can do."

"You'll fall behind if you don't keep up with the basic foundations."

"No, I won't."

He stared at me.

Aside from the fact that I had retained some level of my basic academic knowledge from my last life, stored with all of the other bits of semantic memory that had been passed on along with my soul, there was little being taught to us at this point that couldn't be picked up at a later date in a weekend of studying.

Multiplication, division. The basic history—propaganda, really—of Konoha. The systems of the body. What will kill you if you eat it out in the wilderness. How to pitch a tent and not make a disaster of the environment around you while doing so.

If I ever found myself in need of that information I had access to the Nara library through Maen and the Konoha's shinobi library. There wouldn't be any issue in my getting to it.

There was no reason for me to bother with doing all of it now.

Iruka hadn't said it, but that was the same reason why Shikamaru, and other Nara in general, didn't get ragged on for attaining poor grades in the Academy, assuming that they at least passed. Due to their vast intelligence and the resources they had available to them, it was expected that a Nara would pick up what knowledge they needed down the road.

All of that said, I could have literally scored a zero on every test except for the final ones issued at the end of every semester and still be allowed to progress to the next year.

The grades we received in the physical aspects of class were deemed equal to our academic ones, as knowledge and physical abilities were of equal worth to a shinobi. The grades I received in our physical testing were high enough that, should I want to, I could get a bare pass on my final tests and skate through the Academy without issue.

"I see," Iruka answered. He leant back in his chair, watching me. "You really believe that?"

"Yeah."

He took a deep breath and let it out in one whooshing exhale. "Alright, Kasumi-chan. You can go."

I turned and left without a word.

.

.

"Hey, hey, Kaka! So, what were you in trouble for?"

"Nothing really."

"Eh, really? That's so boring."

"It's a good thing, it means she's not in trouble!"

"Yeah, but it's still boring. I wanted to hear Iruka-sensei yell at her or something."

"You just want him to yell at somebody other than you for once."

"What? Nu uh!"

"I agree with him—you're just bitter."

* * *

I sat on the couch in the living room, my chakra sense wide open and tears burning in my eyes.

Signatures were flying around the village at a mile a minute, high-level signatures at that, one of which belonged to Maen and another to Shikaku. The spot in the village which I had, over time, managed to label as belonging to the Uchiha compound, sat devoid of any chakra activity save for three or four signatures buzzing around which didn't hold the static that was typical static of an Uchiha's chakra signature.

After a minute or two I located a familiar signature in the hospital. The movement of the chakra was subdued, slow and dull, compared to its typical lively nature. It was the only signature left that had the Uchiha static.

I lasted an hour before the dull ache in my head progressed to a roar and I was forced to close off my sense. As soon as the pain subsided, though, I had them open again, a grim curiosity making it impossible for me to keep myself from observing the village in its state of panic.

Maen returned at three in the morning and found me sitting in the living room, a hand over my mouth, my cheeks flushed and damp.

He was decked out in full jonin attire when he walked through the threshold. He gave me a bewildered look when he spotted me there as I hadn't moved the entire time he was gone.

"Kiddo, what—"

"They're all gone," I mumbled, the words muffled as they slipped through my fingers. "I can't—I can't feel any of them."

Recognition flashed across his features, followed by horror. In a second he was on the couch beside me, holding me in his lap, carding his fingers through my hair and murmuring nonsense in that calming voice of his.

Neither of us got any sleep that night.

* * *

Sasuke didn't come back to school for two weeks.

Had I not felt the aftermath of the Uchiha massacre for myself, his absence would have been enough to tip me off.

As it was, once he returned he was—understandably—changed. His default mode was to sit in silence and glare at anybody who looked his way or came within five feet of him. What few words he did speak were clipped, voiced in a tone far colder than any child should be capable of using.

The worst part was how this new attitude was worshipped by the girls in our class.

Some of the blame belonged to those around them who didn't bother correcting their attitudes. I doubted any of them grasped the gravity of the situation, the full extent of the horror that was the Uchiha massacre. They couldn't begin to guess at what type of damage they were doing to the psyche of an eight-year-old Sasuke Uchiha.

I couldn't, either, which was part of what troubled me about the entire situation.

"Alright," Iruka said to our class as we gathered in the training grounds. "Pair off and get started on your spars. Remember to have good, clean fights, okay?"

Sasuke stood off in the far part of the group of students. Ino and another girl, who I believed to be her sparring partner, were hovering near him, giggling to each other and throwing glances at the back of his head.

I made my way over to where he was.

"Good luck, Sasuke-kun," Ino said, ending it off with a delicate giggle.

"Yeah! I know you can do it, Sasuke-kun!" the other girl cried. "You're way better than her."

Sasuke gave them as much attention as I did, which was none at all.

I placed myself across from him without uttering a word and held my hand out in the seal of confrontation. He mirrored the action.

My hand fell at my side and I pulled myself into the defensive position that Maen had taught me, rather than the one that the Academy trained us to use. Despite his calm exterior, I could sense a storm of anger and grief churning in Sasuke, the writhing and frothing of his chakra betraying him, clear to my sense even without having them open.

He flew at me with nowhere near the level of control he had shown in the past.

He launched a reckless offensive that I danced around, knowing better than to try and compete with him in a battle of brawn. If I engaged in a slug-match he'd win. Instead, I waited him out, moving around his punches and kicks with practised ease.

When he overextended with a loose punch aimed at my face, one of the places we weren't supposed to be targeting anyways, I grabbed his wrist and pivoted, tossing him over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes with a sharp yank. He landed on his back and stared up at me, his chest heaving.

I took a step back and extended a hand down to him.

Ten seconds ticked by; I didn't move an inch.

He reached up and wrapped his fingers around my wrist. He let me pull him to his feet, though the second he gained his footing he dropped my hand and backed away. I formed the seal of reconciliation and Sasuke did the same.

Giving a small nod, more to myself than him, I turned my head to the side and frowned at the two girls who had watched us fight rather than participate in their own sparring match.

"Don't you two have something to do?" I asked, not blunting my tone or my words.

The girl let out an 'eep' and skittered away but Ino stared me down. At least one of them had a backbone.

Rather than cower, Ino gave a haughty sniff and turned her nose up at me. With a flick of her hair, she turned and followed the other girl, taking up their positions in their own sparring square.

* * *

 

"No, that's not it—maybe it's because of her accent."

"Why would he like her accent? It's totally a civilian accent."

"But it's kind of, like, pretty, isn't it?"

"No way, that's not it." There was a pause. "Maybe it's her hair—it's so long."

"She never wears it down, though. I heard that Sasuke-kun likes girls with long hair who actually wear it long, she just keeps it in that messy braid most of the time."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Do you think it could be how thin she is, then?"

I slammed my book shut and stood, stalking towards the group of girls that sat mere feet away, gathered together and gossiping as they picked at their near non-existent lunches.

One would expect that, in a society that put such emphasis on manners and politeness, somebody would have taught them how to show some level of tact and restraint when talking about another person who was within earshot of them. Nobody had. They weren't even trying to be quiet.

I planted my hands down on the table and they grew silent. Ino, of course, didn't bat an eye at me while the rest of the girls, Sakura included, inched away from me.

"You're all being stupid," I declared.

"Eh?"

"What do you mean, stupid?"

"You're just trying to get in our way, that's it!"

"I'm not trying to get in your way," I said. "I'd have to actually like Sasuke-kun to do that."

"You don't like him?" one of them asked, her eyebrows furrowing together and her lips puckering.

"Not at all," I said. "We're not even really friends—we're just sparring partners."

"But—but he actually talks to you!" Sakura said.

"Well," I said, "he kind of does."

He spoke to me more than most other people but that wasn't saying much.

Sasuke tolerated me. He didn't like me, nor did he go out of his way to talk to me, but if I asked him a question related to training I could at least expect a monosyllable response rather than silence and a glare.

That was fine with me as I had no desire to talk to him about anything other than training.

"Why does he talk to you," Ino asked, pointing at me, "instead of any of us?"

"Yeah, what makes you so special?"

"Probably because I'm not you," I offered.

"Huh?"

"You all act like he's some kind of Kami," I said. "It's creepy."

"We're showing our devotion!" a girl cried with a huff.

"No, you're being creepy," I repeated. "You giggle anytime he's within ten feet of you and stare at him for way longer than what's socially acceptable."

"Fine," Ino snapped. "What should we do, then, if you're so smart?"

"Stop trying to impress him with your appearances and start trying to impress him with your abilities," I said. "You're all so busy wondering what about my appearances Sasuke-kun could like that you're completely missing the point—unlike any of you, I can take him in a fight."

I received a multitude of blank stares in response.

Ino was the first one to snap out of it. "So we need to get stronger, not prettier," she said, her nose scrunching up as the words left her mouth.

"Well, that, and just… stop being so creepy all the time."

"Hmph."

"How do we know you're not just trying to trick us?" Sakura asked, her eyes narrowed. "You might just be trying to get Sasuke-kun all to yourself!"

A shudder ran through my body at the thought—gross.

I was a lot of things, but a paedophile was not one of them.

"I have absolutely zero interest in Sasuke-kun," I said.

I turned on my heel and walked away, preventing them from throwing more questions my way. As soon as my back was turned they broke out into a mess of chatter, three or four conversations going on at once around the table, the words incomprehensible to me.

I hoped that at least a couple of the conversations were revolving around training.

They were young and wrapped up in the warm embrace of childhood. They didn't yet realise the weight of their decision to attend the Academy, the grim future that they had set out for themselves, inching towards them, growing closer with each passing day. It would be a couple of years until that set in. For some of them, it would take longer, those who wouldn't understand the reality of their lives until they were holding a bloody kunai in their hands for the first time.

I had the foresight to know that I needed to take my training seriously, a luxury that none of them could possess. The few of them who had shinobi parents, or belonged to shinobi clans, would at least have a parent pushing them along through their training regardless—that couldn't be said for the children who had civilian parents, the girls especially.

Not all of the girls would listen to me. Some would ignore what I had said and go on trying to woo Sasuke with hairdos and makeup. Others would take my words to heart for a little while, try to improve themselves as kunoichi, but give up once they saw no results with Sasuke or found the task too difficult.

If, at the end of the day, I spurred on one or two them who managed to stick it out until the end, no matter what their reason for doing it, I would be satisfied.

The chance that Sasuke might spend less time getting ogled at was an added bonus.


	12. Academy: Part 5

"Excuse me."

The boy paused in his exercise, his hand halting mid-strike and falling to his side.

He turned to me. There was a sheen of sweat that glistened on his brow and stuck his hair flat against his forehead; I could smell the perspiration from where I was standing a few feet away. He was breathing heavy, his chest heaving. The muscles in his arms twitched and jumped beneath the fabric around them.

"Hello!" the boy shouted. Despite having spent two hours straight training with a minimal amount of breaks—I had kept tabs on him through my chakra sense, I hadn't sat in a tree and spied on him like a creep—his voice was strong and clear, booming out around the otherwise empty training ground. "What can I do for you, my Beautiful Spring Flower of Youth?"

I steeled my resolve.

There was no turning back. There was no bowing out.

Graduation was four months away. In four months, I would be thrown onto a team and into the shinobi world. I had to be ready for that day, no matter what. If that meant subjecting my body to sadistic and cruel levels of training, then so be it.

"I was wondering if I could train with you."

His face lit up. "Truly?" he cried. I nodded. His hand jut out in a thumbs-up, his right eye winked, and he gave me a blinding grin. There was no other reaction I could muster except to stare. "Why, I would be honoured! I am Rock Lee. Who would you be?"

"Kasumi Kurosawa," I answered. "It's nice to meet you, Lee-kun."

"The pleasure is all mine, Kurosawa-san—"

"Ah, just call me Kasumi. No need to be so formal."

He entire upper body jerked forward at the waist in the most zealous bow I had ever witnessed. "My sincerest apologies, Kasumi-chan!"

I stifled a laugh—there was something almost endearing about his enthusiasm. Perhaps spending so long around Naruto, in all his ebullient glory, had reconditioned my brain so that I wasn't off-put by eccentrics. That, or I had lost my sanity and my ability to be weirded-out had gone right along with it.

Given what I was in the midst of doing, that too was a valid possibility.

"It's fine," I said. "Don't worry about it."

He straightened, a blinding grin in place on his face. "Yosh! Let us get started, then! Are you warmed up?"

"Not really."

"A light jog is in order!" he exclaimed. "We shall run twenty laps around Konoha!"

I choked on air. "Twenty laps? That's a warmup?"

"Indeed! That is half of what I do, I believe it will be sufficient for you!" He blinked. "You are of the Academy age, correct?"

"I'm twelve," I said. "I'll be graduating in June."

"Perfect! This is what Gai-sensei had me doing when I graduated, I know you can do it! I believe in you!"

I sucked in a deep breath.

That was what I had wanted, after all. A step up in my training. Either I was going to regret doing it with every fibre of my being or it would be the best choice of my shinobi career.

"Alright. Let's go."

.

.

The house was empty when I stumbled through the door, my arrival met by silence.

I tugged the door shut behind me and tossed off my shoes, not worrying about how the motion sent them askew, far from where they were supposed to sit on the mat. I stared down at my slippers and contemplated wearing them. I decided against it when I caught a whiff of my own feet. There was a layer of sweat everywhere, my feet included, and I had no desire to dirty my slippers.

My body moved on autopilot through the house. First stop was the shower, where I stood under the hot water for Kami knows how long as the sweat and grime were cleansed from my skin. Then came the kitchen, where I nabbed some of the leftovers that Yoshino had dropped off the day prior, as she didn't trust me to cook my own meals—which was fair when one looked at my less-than-stellar track record in the kitchen. With both of those accomplished, I padded into Maen's room, slipped one of his shirts over my head, and collapsed on his bed, its sheets still mussed from the night before.

The familiar scent enveloped me in warmth.

My hand reached up to his bedside table and my fingers met the rough texture of crinkled paper. I grabbed at it and held the page in front of my face, running my fingers over the letters that were scribbled along the middle of it, following the path that my eyes took as I read it over again.

"Sorry kiddo, but my mission's been extended, might be another few weeks. Please don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

I let out a sigh and set the latter aside, ignoring the way my chest constricted.

My eyes shifted, landing on the calendar that hung on his wall—it was two months behind schedule. I rolled onto my back, laying spread eagle on the mattress, and let my mind focus on the ache in my bones rather than the tears that leaked down my cheeks.

* * *

"Weights?"

Lee dropped them in front of me, unfazed by the cloud of dust that they kicked up when they landed. "Yosh!"

I blinked, forcing my jaw to stay shut even as it itched to drop. "How—how heavy are those?"

"I am uncertain," Lee answered, scratching the back of his head with a sheepish grin. "I believe they are about fifteen pounds."

"Fifteen—no way. Lee-kun, after I trained with you last week, I couldn't walk when I woke up the next day. Adding that much weight to it might actually kill me."

Which, while it may sound dramatic, the fear wasn't without merit as the heat of the mid-afternoon sun pounded down on us. It was a warmer spring day than usual. Training in the heat and training with Lee were both hazardous to my health—to add weights into the equation would force me to limit my training session for the sake of avoiding heat stroke.

I enjoyed pushing my body to its physical limit, that much was true, but I wasn't suicidal and I understood where the line had to be drawn.

Most of the time, at least.

"Nonsense! These are what Gai-sensei gave me during my first weeks of training with him, I am certain they will function very well for your training!"

"I'm also female and probably a good thirty pounds lighter than you would have been," I pointed out.

He seemed to deflate, his shoulders wilting and his grin fading away. "Ah, you are correct, my Sweet Flower!" he cried. His head shot forward as he bowed to me. "I should have thought about that! I am terribly sorry! As penance, I shall run around Konoha a hundred times—on my hands!"

The image of a thirteen-year-old boy, upside down, clad in a green jumpsuit, screaming at the top of his lungs as he sprinted—can one sprint on their hands?—around the perimeter of Konoha popped into my mind against my will.

Oh, no.

"That… that's alright. It's fine, don't worry about it."

"Are you certain? I must—"

"Seriously, Lee-kun. It's okay. You can keep your weights, too, I'll pick some up for myself by next week."

He was beaming at me once again. "That is very kind of you! I would encourage you, however, to take the weights back with you, and to wear them during your everyday life until you get your own. You can return them to me when we meet next week!"

I shook my head. "They're too heavy for me. Really, I'll get my own as soon as possible."

Weights that were worn at all times had to be light enough that they were near unnoticeable. They weren't meant to be a hindrance to you, but to condition your body over time, increased in increments as your muscles strengthened. Lee and, by extension, Gai, had thrown that idea out the window by wearing fifteen-pound weights on each of limbs right out the gate.

I didn't intend to do the same.

"If you are certain," he said. He picked up the weights, chucked them off to the side as if they were lighter than air, and struck a pose, his legs forming a v-shape and his shoulders squared and his hands on his hips. "Now then! Let the training commence!"

In a flash, Lee had dashed off in the other direction. Shit. I followed, forcing my legs into a dead sprint and hoping in the back of my mind that I'd manage to keep my lunch down.

* * *

Maen gazed at the lump in his bed, one hand still running a towel through his damp hair.

She was curled up in the fetal position on his pillow, her hands clamped around the fabric of the shirt—his shirt—that swallowed up her entire body like a dress. He had assumed that she was at his cousin's house when he found her room empty. Instead, there she was, sleeping in his bed and clutching one of his shirts like it was a lifeline.

There were few times when Maen regretted his choice of work—that moment happened to be one of them.

He had known that his being absent affected her. He had known she missed him when he was gone, a sentiment that went both ways.

What he hadn't known was how deep those feelings went.

He felt a stab of guilt, made sharper by the fact that he knew it wouldn't stop him from taking missions in the future. That was part of the sacrifice that came with being a shinobi. It had to come first. He was young and in his prime years, if there was ever a time for him to slow down on his mission intake, it wasn't then, not when he was of most use to his village.

He leant his shoulder against the doorframe, rubbing the rest of the water from out of his shoulder-length hair.

He'd just have to make it up to her, he supposed.

Maen discarded the towel and pulled some clothes from his closet, a tank-top and shorts. The room was pitch black, with only a hint of light leaking in from the hallway, but he had no issue navigating around as he finished getting ready to settle in for the night.

He slid into the bed, easing himself down beside her and pulling the covers up so that they sat around her shoulders. He thought he had managed to do so without waking her up when a pair of violet eyes blinked at him, half-opened, sleepy and unfocused.

"Maen?"

He put his arms around her back, lifting a hand to run his fingers through her hair, one of the few things that never failed to relax her. "Go back to sleep, kiddo," he murmured.

"Missed you," she mumbled.

She pushed her weight into him and pressed her face against his chest, both of her hands coming up to latch onto his shirt.

He let his chin rest atop her head. "I missed you too, kiddo."

She hummed. "Night."

He listened as her breathing evened out, her entire body going limp in his hold.

He'd make it up to her, somehow.

* * *

I clutched at Maen's hand with both of my own as we walked through the village.

It was busy, with hordes of people, civilians and shinobi alike, milling around the market centre of Konoha and relishing in the agreeable weather. The sounds of a hundred different conversations drifted to my ears, the feel of a hundred different chakra signatures glancing against my sense.

"What inspired weights?" Maen asked. "You said you wanted them later on, what made you change your mind?"

I looked up at him and shrugged. "I started training with someone who suggested I try them."

He made a face, the lines around his mouth turning downward. "It's not that Uchiha brat, is it?"

"Not a chance," I scoffed. "It's some kid I met at the training grounds, he's a year older than me. He and his sensei specialise in taijutsu."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Uh-huh. He's kinda weird—he wears this green jumpsuit, and he says the word 'youthful' a lot. He's nice, though."

I watched Maen's reaction out of the corner of my eye.

He stiffened, his step faltering for a second, his eyes widening. I bit back a grin.

"That's… that's interesting."

"Something wrong?"

"No, no," he said, his composure back in place. He cleared his throat. "How's that going?"

"It's fine. His training is really intense, but I think it'll help."

"What does he have you doing?"

"A lot of what I was doing already, but just… harder. One-handed push ups with weight on my back, making me run backwards, weird sideways sit ups. All of that in crazy amounts. He sparred with me a bit, too, but he went easy on me."

Maen's eyes flashed across my body. "How long has that been going on?"

"A couple of weeks," I said. "I'm supposed to meet him again tomorrow."

"You'd think a genin wouldn't have any interest in training with an Academy student," he said.

"He said something about 'helping to foster the Youth of Konoha like his Great Sensei does'. Like I said, he's nice, but a bit… odd."

"You wouldn't say that if you met his sensei," Maen muttered.

"You know his sensei?"

"The entire shinobi population of Konoha knows his sensei."

I snorted. "That bad?"

"The guy's colourful, alright, but he's also a genius," Maen said. "He's one of the top shinobi in Konoha."

I nodded.

A shop sign, with bright red lettering and a cartoon kunai sketched out underneath it, caught my attention. I managed to get a glimpse at the windows through the crowd, displaying various forms of shinobi gear, from kunai to senbon, katana to tanto, and mannequins outfitted with clothes for both shinobi and kunoichi. I tugged on Maen's hand and pointed to it.

"Hey, isn't that where you said we were going?"

He turned to look where I was gesturing to, squinting, and nodded. "Looks like it."

He led me through the crowd towards the shop door.

The bell dinged as Maen pushed the door open, garnering the attention of the shopkeeper who had been organising inventory in the back. A stout man, he put down a box of kunai and hobbled over to where we were, the steady thunk of wood hitting wood intermingled with a lone footstep, a broad grin on his face.

"Nara-san," the man said. "A pleasure, as always."

"Been a while, Fujita-san." Maen gave me a push between the shoulders. "This is Kasumi."

The man bent down to greet me, crouching and setting his hands on his knees. The gesture felt both kind and condescending—which made sense, given that in his mind, he was approaching a twelve-year-old.

"It's nice to meet you, Kasumi-chan."

"You as well, Fujita-san."

"We're looking for training weights," Maen said, setting a hand on my shoulder.

Fujita nodded and made his way towards the back part of the store, calling over his shoulder, "Normal or sealed?"

Maen turned back to me. "You're looking to use them all of the time, right?"

"Yeah," I answered.

"Sealed," Maen told him.

"Come on back, I should have some that fit."

Maen moved towards the source of the voice, tugging me along with him as I had yet to let go of his hand. I let him guide me, marvelling at the weaponry and gear along the walls instead of watching where I was going, hoping in the back of my mind that I wasn't drooling.

Fujita had two sets of weights that he was considering, one in each hand, humming to himself as he hefted them. They didn't look like weights. They were made of a thin black material, resembling an armband more than a weight. The thing that gave it away was the white seals stitched into them, the same design on all of the articles.

He saw us and tossed a set my way. I caught them—they didn't feel like weights any more than they looked it. They could be slipped under my regular clothes and nobody except me would know they were there to start with.

"They should be snug," Fujita said.

I pulled on the armband and held out my wrist. A bit of slack showed itself, the fabric sagging downward. Fujita clicked his tongue. He held out the other set and swapped it for the one I had. The second set was a better fit, both on my arms and legs.

Maen went to pay for them while I wandered the store.

I had considered finding a weapon to augment my taijutsu but realised there wasn't any point until I had my jonin-sensei. Whichever weapon I chose, should I pick one up at all, had to be one in which there was a teacher available who was well-versed with it.

I brushed my fingers on a set of tessen, a wicked pair of fans made entirely of blades rather than fabric, when I saw a shine of silver in the corner of my eye.

"Rings?" I murmured aloud, meandering over towards it.

It was a group of four rings and two bracelets, formed out of thick, polished steel, sitting in a box on the corner of a counter. They were plain, save for an intricate seal, the same one carved into each of them.

"Those are rather curious, aren't they?"

"What are they?" I asked.

Fujita reached over my shoulder and pulled out one of the rings.

He slipped it over his finger and clenched his hand into a fist, lifting his hand up as he released a burst of concentrated chakra around the area of the ring. A thin line of chain slinked out from where the seal was on the ring and wound its way towards me—I could sense a hint of chakra leaking off of the chain.

"There're fifteen metres of reinforced steel chain sealed into each of the rings, twenty metres sealed into the bracelets," he said. "You use a skiff of chakra to active them and control the chains."

"That's… that's so fucking cool."

Maen walked over, a plastic bag in hand and an eyebrow raised. "What's cool?"

"Look!" I cried.

"She found these little beauties," Fujita answered, the chain still writhing in the air in front of him. "Some of my best seal work, if I do say so myself."

Maen sighed. "You want them, don't you?"

I gave him a grin, no doubt starry-eyed. "Maybe."

He rolled his eyes. "At least make sure you can use them, first."

"Don't be too disappointed if you can't," Fujita warned. "They require incredibly precise chakra control. Most people below chunin can't properly activate them."

"I wouldn't count her out just yet," Maen muttered. "She'll surprise you."

I grabbed at one of the rings and put it on my middle finger, ensuring that the seal was situated at the top of my finger. I let my chakra sense open up to give myself a better idea of what was happening when I channelled my chakra into the area of the ring, watching as it created something akin to a pathway where the seal was.

Once the path was open and the first link of the chain peeked out of the ring, I understood what he meant. My control over it was tenuous, a layer of my chakra coating the chain as it exited from the seal, but the further out the chain went the more difficult it was to hold onto it. A metres worth of chain was extended when my control gave out and cut off the chakra that was being supplied to the seal. The chain was swept back up into the ring like a vacuum.

"Well, not bad for a first try," Fujita said and clapped me on the shoulder. "That's far better than what most get. Practice makes perfect with these, trust me."

"How much are they?" Maen asked, heaving a sigh.

He had resigned himself to his fate.

Fujita waved a hand. "Don't worry, I've got no intention of burning a hole in your pocket—you've already purchased the weights, I'll give you a good deal on 'em."

I let out a squeal and threw myself at his mid-section. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

He snorted, placing a hand on my head. "Yeah, yeah. You're welcome, you little monster."

"I'm your little monster."

"I guess you are."


	13. Graduation: Part 1

Iruka let out a breath, collected his thoughts, and knocked his knuckles against the aged wood; the sound echoed through the hallway outside of the office.

Somebody shuffled papers and cleared their throat beyond the door. "Come in."

He hesitated for a second before he pushed the door open and walked through the threshold, dipping down in a low bow as his feet landed in front of the desk. "Hokage-sama."

"Iruka-kun," Hiruzen said, the start of a frown pulling at his features. "Is something the matter?"

"It's about the team placements."

"Oh?" Hiruzen reclined against his chair. "There is no need to rush this, Iruka-kun. In light of the events that transpired earlier this evening, it would be understandable if you and the other chunin took another day to reorganise the teams—and if you went home to rest."

Iruka flushed, forcing his eyes to stay up instead of dropping down to his feet. "Your concern is appreciated, Hokage-sama, but I'm fine. The medics did their job well. The teams have all been re-organized, as well."

"Then what is the issue?"

"It—It's about Team 7."

Hiruzen extended his hand and Iruka gave him the sheet of paper which contained all of the different team placements. His eyes scanned the page and he let out a hum when his pupils halted their movements.

"Naruto Uzumaki, Sasuke Uchiha, and Sakura Haruno," Hiruzen said. "Sasuke-kun is Rookie of the Year, Sakura-chan is top kunoichi, and Naruto-kun is at the bottom of his class. It is a standard team. On paper, they have the potential to be our top performing genin team."

"Yes, but… but I don't think Sakura Haruno is the correct choice for that team."

Hiruzen picked up his pipe and gave it a puff, expression neutral. "It is a tradition that they are placed together," he said, bits of smoke drifting out from between his lips as he spoke. It wasn't intended as an argument against him, Iruka noted, but as a statement of fact. "It has been that way for many generations."

"I know it has. On paper they'll balance each other out perfectly, yes, but in reality, they won't function well as a team. Sakura-chan doesn't get along with Naruto-kun at all, and while she does quite like Sasuke-kun, he—ah, doesn't feel the same. Sakura-chan will spend all of her time attempting to work with and protect Sasuke-kun, but none with Naruto-kun. In the same vein, Sasuke-kun won't be willing to work with her while Naruto-kun will only want to work with her. Kasumi-chan, however, gets along with Naruto-kun and will be capable of working with Sasuke-kun. She won't have that issue at all, and neither will the boys; she can balance them out."

"Personalities clashing is not unheard of with this team," Hiruzen reminded him. "Look at the Sannin. They fought like cats and dogs for their entire time as a team and yet they are one of, if not the most, powerful team this village has ever produced."

"They are," Iruka agreed, "but this is different." He took in a breath. "Kasumi Kurosawa should have been the one to take the spot as top kunoichi."

"Yet," Hiruzen said, inclining his head, "she didn't."

Iruka didn't want to take an opportunity away from Sakura, he really didn't, but he didn't think that being placed on Team 7, being forced to compete with Naruto and Sasuke for attention, would benefit her. Naruto was the village jinchuriki and had the potential to be an absolute powerhouse. Sasuke was the last Uchiha, with a potent dojutsu and ninjutsu capabilities that could put some chunin to shame. Sakura was a civilian girl with brains and chakra control that went above average and passable everything else; she wasn't exceptional in the way that her two teammates were.

He knew that she had potential. If her skills were nurtured, if she was given the chance, Sakura could become a formidable kunoichi.

Iruka was certain that on Team 7 she wouldn't be given a fair chance. Placing her on Team 7 would be a waste and Iruka refused to allow one of his students to be done such a disservice.

Kasumi, on the other hand, would have no issue holding her own on a team with Naruto and Sasuke. She was stubborn and determined to stand out in a way that Sakura wasn't, she had a drive to fight that Sakura lacked, things which may have made it difficult for her to function with other teams, but would be essential for her on Team 7.

"Kasumi-chan didn't get that spot because I failed in my job as her sensei."

"Oh?"

"If both girls had equal motivation, Kasumi-chan would have been the one to take the spot as top kunoichi. Her low academic scores were a result of low motivation, not low intelligence—she would do half of her tests, enough to pass, and then just stop because she didn't want to finish them."

The tips of Hiruzen's lips twitched upward, a smile flashing across his face. It was brief, a blip on his face, and Iruka wondered if he imagined it. "I see."

"It's different with Sakura-chan," Iruka continued. "Her low physical scores are beyond my control. To improve those, she would require special attention that I can't give her, the type of thing only a jonin-sensei can do. I did everything I could for Sakura-chan. Kasumi-chan, though, I… I feel like—no, I know that I could have done more for her. I could have pushed harder than I did."

Hiruzen nodded, pulling his pipe from between his lips and setting it down on the desk in front of him. "I can see you have given this a lot of thought," he observed. "You truly believe this?"

"I do, Hokage-sama," Iruka said.

"Then I will take your word for it."

* * *

 

I was in a daze when I walked through the front door. I tossed my shoes onto the mat and made it five steps into the house when I remembered to call, "Tadaima."

"Okaeri," came the reply, mingled with the steady draw of metal grinding against stone.

My feet carried me towards the noise, to where Maen sat on the living room couch, the radio droning on in the background as he sharpened the blades of his kunai with idle movements. He had a mass of equipment scattered around him and an empty pack sitting at his feet.

"Mission?" I asked, my mouth turning down in a frown. "You've only been back for a week."

"Yeah. Something came up and Hokage-sama needs to send me out, I'll be leaving tomorrow morning."

"Oh."

"It should be a shorter mission, a couple of weeks at most," he said.

"'Should be'?"

"That's the projected timeframe," he said. "I doubt it'll go over, but anything can happen."

"Yeah."

I threw myself onto the couch beside him and sank into the cushions, dropping my bag onto the floor in front of the couch. Maen paused in his task, setting his kunai and stone on the table amidst the rest of his supplies, one of his hands coming to rest on my head and tilting it back to meet his gaze.

"Any reason in particular that you're not telling me about your team placement?" he asked.

I went with the safe answer of: "My sensei's an ass."

"And who's your sensei?"

"Kakashi Hatake."

A flicker of surprise, a flicker of annoyance. "Ah."

"I'm guessing you know him?"

"Yeah," he said and pulled his hand back. "Who're your teammates?"

"Naruto and Sasuke-kun."

"Huh. Yeah, alright—I see why you're mopey."

I groaned. "You're supposed to make me feel better about this."

Make me feel better about getting placed on the most dangerous team I could have.

Make me feel better about throwing the fate of this universe into question.

It wasn't fair; I shouldn't have been on that team. Sakura had gotten the title of top kunoichi, not me, it was her role to inhabit, not mine. Never mine. I hadn't gone out of my way to avoid being on Team 7, but I hadn't gone out of my way to be placed on it, either. Who would? Seriously, who would?

A mission that would pit me against an S-rank shinobi not just once, but twice? No thanks.

An encounter with an even more dangerous S-rank shinobi that could stomp me into the dirt with his pinky toe? I'll pass.

I was content to be friends with the various main players, to give them minor pushes here and there, to help them if I could, but I had zero desire to get caught up in the mess that was bound to unfold past what would be strictly necessary of me. Minor involvement was a guarantee, no matter what, as I was a shinobi of Konoha and I had a duty to uphold, one that I had no qualms performing.

That was fine. That I could handle.

At the end of the day, though, I just wanted to live.

As much as I wanted to help my village and those I cared about, as much as I wanted to give this world a better future, I wanted to be alive to see it.

A finger tapped on my forehead, snapping me from my thoughts. "Hey, kiddo—you feelin' alright?" he asked. "You're zoning out."

"More than usual?" I asked, my voice no louder than a mumble.

His frown deepened. "What's wrong?"

Pretty much everything. "Nothing."

"Are you getting sick?" His palm smoothed out over my forehead. "You're a bit warm."

I'm not sick, I'm terrified. "Maybe. I think I'm going to go take a nap, or something—I have to be up early tomorrow for my jonin-test."

I pushed myself up, reaching a hand down to catch the hook of my bag as I did so, and headed to my room, the sensation of eyes on the back of my head trailing me the whole way.

Some time to think on my own was what I needed, time to plan, to figure out how I was going to deal with that new development.

* * *

 

"Your assignment is very simple. You just have to take these bells from me, that's all there is to it. If you can't get them by noon, you go without lunch. You'll be tied to those posts over there and you'll get to watch me while I eat my lunch."

I stood, one hand on my cocked hip while the other hung at my side, my face impassive as I watched Kakashi dangle the bells in front of us.

Naruto and Sasuke had placed themselves on either side of me. Their expressions were teetering on either side of the spectrum, Naruto radiating a red-hot anger whilst Sasuke shot Kakashi a look so cold that it could have frozen hell over. Kakashi was nonplussed—in fact, I was certain that he was getting a kick out of how little effort he had to exert in order to rile the two of them up.

"Eh? But, hey—wait! There're two bells, but three of us," Naruto shouted.

"Terribly astute of you," Kakashi answered, his eye crinkling up in an eye-smile that had to be fake. "That's because only two of you will pass. One of you will not receive a bell, you will be disqualified for failing to complete the mission, and then you will be sent back to the Academy. Though, really, all three of you could fail out if you aren't careful."

Naruto cried out in outrage and Sasuke released a watered down form of what I assumed was killer-intent.

That neither of them picked up on the lie was almost as annoying as the fact that the lie existed in the first place. It was obvious when one took all of a few seconds to think about how many two-man genin teams they had seen around the village and realised the answer was zero. Kakashi kicking one of us off and keeping the other two was a logical impossibility.

"What do we do?" Sasuke asked, hands shoved in his pockets and eyes trained on Kakashi.

"You will come at me with the intent to kill me," Kakashi answered. "If you aren't ready to do that, you won't be able to take the bell. You can use any weapons, including shuriken and kunai."

"If you couldn't dodge my eraser then I don't see how you can dodge those," Naruto scoffed.

Ignorance is bliss, huh?

"Keep that attitude up," Kakashi told him, reaching down to link the bells up to the pouch on his hip. "You're just making my life easier by not coming at me with everything you have, like the class clown that you are—those are usually the weakest links, you know, and hold the lowest scores. The losers of the shinobi world."

I caught sight of the smirk that spread across Sasuke's lips. "Class clowns may not always pull the highest academic skills but they do have other important traits that shinobi require," I said. "They learn to think outside the box from coming up with their pranks, and pick up good stealth abilities from putting those pranks into action."

Naruto laughed, grinning from ear to ear. "Yeah! What she said!"

Kakashi shifted his gaze to stare at me, managing to give off a distinct sense of being unimpressed with the outburst despite the fact that more than half of his face was covered by cloth. He watched me, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders slouched and held in a loose manner, and it felt as if he mentally took me apart and put me back together again in the second that ticked past.

"You can begin when I say 'start'," Kakashi said, ignoring the fact that I had spoken. He turned on his heel and walked a few feet away, leaving his back turned to us, taunting us, begging for one of us to attack in a preemptive strike. None of us took the bait. "Start."

I grabbed Naruto and Sasuke by the back of their shirts and launched myself towards the tree line, hauling the two of them with me. Sasuke landed on his feet, treating me to a glare that I brushed off with practised ease, while Naruto hit the ground in a heap beside him.

There was no chance we could get the bells, not even close. I had an advantage because that was clear to me from the onset—Naruto and Sasuke weren't in the same position. Neither of them understood where the root of the test was and remedying that was the important thing because from there a plan could be put into place. We didn't have to succeed but we did have to try, and we had to do it together.

"Hey, Kaka, what gives?" Naruto whined.

"We need to come up with a plan," I said. "All three of us."

"I don't need your help," Sasuke said, moving to go off on his own.

"You do, actually, because it's not a test to see which of us can get a bell—it's a test to see how well we work together."

Sasuke stopped in his tracks and turned towards me, the scowl set firm on his face but no immediate protest leaving his lips. "How?" he asked instead.

"Think about it," I said. "Have you ever seen a two-man genin team?"

His expression flitted from haughty to confused to annoyed as the realisation dawned on him. "He was trying to trick us."

"Exactly," I said. "He's testing our ability to work as a team by intentionally setting us against each other. I doubt it even matters if we get the bells as long as we try and get them as a team instead of separately."

I could see the gears in Sasuke's head turning as he absorbed my words, his mind finding the logic in my words even as his attitude found fault in them. He would listen to me. He wouldn't be thrilled with it, that was plain to me, but he would do it and that was what mattered.

"What? Why would he do that?" Naruto asked. "That seems dumb."

I shrugged. "Who knows? That's not important, though—we just need to try and get those bells as a team."

Sasuke turned to Naruto, eyes narrowed. "Just don't get in my way."

"I won't get in your way, you'll get in my way!"

"As if, loser."

"I'm not a loser, you bastard!"

"That's enough," I said, rolling my eyes and positioning myself between the two of them. "Neither of you are going to get into each other's way because we're going to figure out a plan before we start attacking."

"You've got something figured out?" Sasuke asked, not hiding the entirety of his disdain at the thought.

"You could say that."

.

.

Kakashi flipped the page of his book, half-listening with chakra-perked ears as the children hatched out a plan from behind their 'cover'.

He had expected it to be the Uchiha to figure out the truth of the bell test, if any of them were to do it at all, not the little brat of a kunoichi that he'd been stuck with. Worse, she had done it in mere minutes. He supposed it was his own fault for underestimating her—she had been placed on the team for a reason, after all, beyond her ability to work as a balance between her teammates, a skill she was putting to quick use a hundred feet away.

He turned an eye to the sky once their conversation began to wind down and they prepared to strike; there was an hour and a half remaining for them.

Kakashi contemplated giving them the advantage of having an open area—for all the good that it would do them—but decided against it. The thought of stringing them along, testing out the mettle of the kunoichi's reportedly unusual sensor ability, sounded more entertaining.

He heard them stir in the bushes to his left. He let them catch a glimpse of him, gave them a glimmer of hope, waited for long enough that one of them grew bold and broke through into the clearing with a determined cry, then Shunshined away.

.

.

"He's a bit over that way," I murmured between huffs of air, jerking my thumb in the direction. The chakra signature shifted on my sense and I pushed myself against the tree trunk on instinct, the bark biting into the skin of my back. "Careful—I think he knows we're here."

In truth, I could guarantee that he knew, as it would have been impossible for somebody of his level to not know we were crouched such a short distance away. Most chunin could have discerned our presence with ease. To think that Kakashi was not in complete control of the situation, which included being aware of where we were at all times, was folly.

Sasuke nodded and readied his kunai. His face was set in a grim determination that would have been more suited to an assassination rather than the situation at hand, though, in his mind, the two may have been one in the same.

"Don't you even worry, Kaka, we got this!" Naruto said, punctuating his words with a grin and a laugh.

Sasuke gave him a look of disdain but didn't rebut the statement.

"'Course you do," I said. "Go on. I won't be able to signal you, remember, so don't stop until either we get the bells or he incapacitates you."

Naruto bounded off, running across the forest floor towards where I had gestured to. There was a cry of "Kage Bunshin no Jutsu!" and the area around me lit up with a sea of sunny chakra signatures.

Step one complete.

Sasuke waited, letting Naruto get a bit ahead of him, and followed suit.

I crept from my spot against the tree to get a visual on the situation. Kakashi was surrounded by clones, dodging and weaving around their offensive without breaking a sweat, his book out in front of him and his posture not showing a hint of tension. Sasuke had looped around to flank Kakashi, on the opposite side of where the bells jingled against his hip.

I sat, one hand pressed against the dirt and the other reaching out towards where the yin chakra that made up my shadow was gathered, formless without the light of the sun to give it shape. It would be harder to wield, would take me a second longer to weave around my skin, would hold its structure a second less than usual, but so long as I could feel the chakra there I could call upon it.

Sasuke made his move. Kakashi twisted his upper body to intercept it, turned away from me and towards Sasuke.

I pulled on the chakra and forced it around me; Kakashi punted Sasuke away with a well-placed kick. I propelled myself forward, pushing off of the ground with my hands to build momentum, and started to count down in my head.

Five.

The wind whistled through my ears and whipped at my clothes as I sprinted towards the action.

Four.

I slipped around a couple of clones, taking care to not allow my skin to come into contact with them.

Sasuke picked himself up off of the ground and threw himself at Kakashi again.

Three.

I was close. The armour began to crack under my grip but I held it fast. Almost, almost. I reached a hand out towards the bells.

Two.

I became aware that my chakra had been ripped from my skin in the same instant that I was slammed against the tree trunk, my skull snapping back against the bark, the air getting yanked from my lungs in a single, choked exhale. There was pain, pain in my ribs, pain on my back, pain in my head, all made worse by the disorientation of being swatted away by a blow that landed at a speed too fast for my eyes to keep up with. I took a second to regulate my breathing, forcing myself to intake air in a slow, measured fashion.

"Was—was that really fucking necessary?" I gasped, an arm wrapping around my ribcage as I struggled to my feet. I blinked away stars. "Fuck that hurt."

"Completely," Kakashi answered from a yard away.

He ducked beneath a clone and popped another with an elbow jab.

Sasuke looked to me, to Naruto, then to Kakashi. "Fall back!" he barked.

At least he knew when to cut his losses—it was the right call to make. We weren't going to be getting anything else out of that attempt, not without a new approach. Kakashi made no move to follow as the three of us fled the scene, Sasuke taking the lead with Naruto and I trailing behind him.

"Your plan didn't work," Sasuke said as Naruto and I came to stand in front of him.

"Brilliant observation," I muttered, rubbing a hand on the sore part of my ribs, the skin bright red and swollen beneath my fingers. "I hadn't noticed."

"What'll we do now?" Naruto asked. "We can't just give up!"

"We're not going to give up," I said. "We just need to rethink this. Come up with a new plan."

"He's going to expect us to flank him like that again," Sasuke said. "We need to go for a full frontal assault."

"We can't overwhelm him, though. He's a jonin. Anything we throw at him he'll be able to just walk around. Will a frontal assault really be that effective?" I asked.

"Do you have a better idea?" he threw back at me, the tone of his voice making it clear that, in his mind at least, the answer to that was 'no'.

"Yeah," I said. "But I'm willing to give yours a shot first. If it fails, Naruto gets to come up with the next plan, and then we try one of mine again. Might as well be fair about it."

"You'd let the loser come up with a plan?" Sasuke asked.

"Of course I'd let Naruto come up with a plan. Like I said to Kakashi-sensei earlier, he's been pulling pranks his entire life—this kind of shit is right up his ally."

"Yeah, you bastard!" Naruto cried.

I flicked Naruto's nose. "Don't call him that."

"What? But—hey, he is one! You heard him!"

"No name calling," I said. "If he can't call you 'loser' then you can't call him 'bastard'." I turned to Sasuke, arms crossed over my chest. "Tell us what you had in mind, Sasuke-kun."

.

.

By the time we got in position to execute Sasuke's plan, I knew that Naruto wouldn't be getting a chance to try a plan of his own. Kakashi had—again—led us on a wild goose chase through the forest, all the way back to the entrance of the training grounds, where the three stumps and the memorial stone were waiting for us.

As I broke through into the clearing I caught sight of the sun sitting high in the sky, the clock ticking away with a mere two minutes left in the middle of the clearing, both marking our time as nearing its end. He had waited us out, the asshole.

Kakashi disappeared in a puff of smoke, reappearing in the middle of the clearing, leaning against the middle stump and tapping a finger against the clock. "It appears that your time is nearly up," he said. "Unless you three have something incredible planned, I'd suggest you just quit now. I hear the Academy is offering summer classes, perfect for flunkee genin wannabees."

Naruto and Sasuke both stiffened beside me.

"We won't be needing those," I said. "We're going to pass."

"That's a surprising amount of confidence to be coming from somebody who barely passed their academic courses," Kakashi said. "Was it luck that got you here?"

He was trying to goad me—it might have worked, if not for the fact that my academic scores weren't even close to a weak spot for me and that I had the awareness to see the attempt for what it was.

If luck had anything to do with it, that's some damn shitty luck. "Maybe, maybe not. It doesn't matter either way. We're going to pass this test and you're going to be our sensei."

"We'll see."

Naruto bolted ahead, fingers flying and the shouting words, "Kage Bunshin no Jutsu!"

Sasuke followed after him with a roll of his eyes.

That left me.

My bloodlimit was out of the question—Kakashi had seen through it once, he'd see through it again. The bracelets that hung on my wrists weren't an option, either, nor were the rings that clinked together in my back pouch, as not only did I lack the ability to wield them with precision, but they weren't ideal in a situation where I was fighting side by side with others. There was too high of a chance that Naruto and Sasuke could get caught in the crossfire if I attempted to fight with the chains.

A sense of anticipation crept into my muscles, sent my blood pumping, had my heart hammering in my chest. I cracked my knuckles and rushed forward, holding my body low to the ground as I picked my way through the mess of clones, Kakashi sitting in my sights.

I was left with taijutsu. While hand-to-hand combat wasn't ideal when going up against somebody who had me so woefully outclassed, I had a couple of advantages on my side.

The first being that Naruto, his fifty clones, and Sasuke were each taking up minor chunks of his attention, instead of it sitting on me alone. That wasn't to say that I had any confidence in my ability to land a hit on Kakashi, but it meant there was a minor, itty bitty, minuscule chance that I could, instead of none whatsoever.

The second was that Kakashi wouldn't hurt me. The blow he had given me to the ribs earlier, for example, had been painful, but he had avoided causing any real injury, leaving a minor bruise instead of broken bones. It would have been easy for him to break a few ribs with that hit and he didn't. He knew his strength. That gave me room to take openings that would otherwise be considered dangerous; in that fight, there were no truly dangerous openings.

I skid to a stop, finding myself within striking distance of Kakashi, poised behind his right side, and took a breath to evaluate.

The height difference made it impossible to hit above the elbow.

I had a brief opening, meaning I would need to land a quick strike onto one of the few weak points available to me.

My eyes took in the weak points that were right in front of me: back of the knee, ankles, elbow.

I closed the gap between the two of us and aimed a vicious palm-strike at the bone in his elbow. At worst it would numb his arm and disable it for a short time, at best it would fracture and make the limb useless until he saw a medic. Or neither, in that instance, as Kakashi dipped away from the attack and kicked back at me, sending me soaring across the clearing like a rag-doll. I righted myself in the air and hit the ground at a roll, letting gravity carry me back up into a crouch.

I put a bit of chakra into my hands and my feet and, with a hearty push, slingshot myself through the air—walking is for chumps—with my legs outstretched, a dropkick directed towards his face. His nose, more specifically, because if I could do at least one thing to him that day, a broken nose was more than enough. Kakashi reached up a hand and caught my ankles with inches to spare, using the momentum to fling me away.

That time, though, instead of just landing a few yards away, my projected point of touchdown was damn far away.

Shit.

I channelled a burst of chakra into my wrist and lashed out with my chains. I couldn't aim them to save my life, at that point, but I didn't need precision. There was an entire forest for me to target and the chains were bound to collide with something so long as they reached far enough.

The chain shot out from my wrist and I grabbed on with my free hand, letting the links slip across my palm as it extended, the layer of chakra around them creating a buffer between my skin and the metal. The chain connected with one of the trees and my hand closed around the chains, bracing myself against the impact—it wouldn't do to pop my arm from its socket.

I cut off my chakra. The storage seal closed and chain retracted itself and I was jerked forward.

Branches smacked me the entire way in, and the landing was less than stellar, but it was better than having to run back. The chain had embedded itself in the trunk of a tree and created an anchor.I tore the links out from the trunk with a swift pull, letting them retracting the rest of the way back into the seal.

Done.

Okay.

I sprinted back to the clearing in ten seconds flat. The area was alight with chaos, as it had been before, except that when I watched the fight rage on, there was a desperation in both Naruto and Sasuke's movements that hadn't been there.

My eye landed on the clock. There were ten seconds left.

Even though I knew that the bells were irrelevant, knew the true purpose of the test, I began to feel it too, that itch in my limbs and the pumping of my heart and the dryness of my throat. My entire body ached to spring into action and make a last-ditch effort towards them. I didn't.

Instead, I watched as the last of Naruto's clones were popped, Sasuke was once again knocked away without a second thought, and the shrill ring of the alarm pierced the air. The entire clearing came to an abrupt halt.

Sasuke took a step back and holstered his kunai, though he kept his eyes locked on the bells. Naruto stared at Kakashi with clear uncertainty.

"You failed your mission," Kakashi said. "None of you got bells."

"Were we supposed to be able to?" I asked. "Three genin against a jonin is literally impossible."

Kakashi stared at me for a long moment. "No," he finally said, "you weren't."

"Eh? What was even the point, then?"

"Idiot," Sasuke muttered.

"You tell me, Naruto-kun. What reason would I have to pit you three up against an impossible enemy with an impossible goal?"

Naruto's face scrunched up in thought. "Uh… to, uh… to make us work together?"

"That's correct," Kakashi answered. "Though, I'm fairly certain you only arrived there because Kasumi-chan was kind enough to give you the answer earlier on."

Ouch.

"That was the point though, wasn't it?" Sasuke asked. His fists were clenched at his side. "For us to work together, not for us to get the bells. If that was the point, that means we still passed, right?"

Kakashi stared the boys down, hands in his pockets and his head tilted—he was watching Sasuke crack under the pressure, watching Naruto squirm under it, and at that point I knew, deep in my soul, in the marrow of my bones, that Kakashi Hatake was, indeed, a sadist.

"You're the first team to ever see through the test as I presented it and think for yourselves, and you did it quickly," Kakashi said. "Kasumi-chan, you kept a level head and thought your way through the situation. Sasuke-kun, Naruto-kun, you both trusted her word the entire time, even when you could have broken off half way through and gone out on your own. You functioned as a team, one of the most important things for a genin team to do in a situation like what I presented to you. For that, yes, I suppose you've passed."

Naruto whooped, punching a fist in the air.

The edges of Sasuke's mouth curled up in a smirk and the tension that threaded his shoulders eased.

Kakashi wasn't done.

He strolled through the clearing, gaze set on a point ahead of him—the memorial stone.

"Any time that you leave the village, your life is on the line. The people at your back, your team, are the people who will keep you alive. You need to be able to work with them and trust them," Kakashi said. He stopped in front of the stone. "Do any of you know what this is?"

"The memorial stone," I offered. "Where the names of those honoured in the village as heroes are engraved."

Maen had brought me with him, every so often, to visit the stone when he was paying respects to his family. Both of his parent's names were on there, as was the name of his older brother.

"Then my name's gonna be on there one day!"

I winced. "No, Naruto," I murmured. "I don't think you quite get it."

"Eh? Whattya mean?"

"These shinobi are a special kind of hero," Kakashi said. "The memorial stone commemorates all of the shinobi who have given their lives to keep the village safe. The names of my closest friends are engraved into this stone."

"Oh," Naruto said, his smile dropping and his shoulders deflating.

A bitter reminder of the bitter reality.

The stone, with its thousands of names that were carved into the obsidian, stood as both the ultimate dream and worst nightmare for the shinobi population of Konoha, with some vowing to go out in a blaze of glory and earn their spot on it, and others refusing to become another statistic. I had the awareness to know that I was the latter; the last thing I wanted was for my name to end up beside the countless others who died in the line of fire.

I didn't need to be a hero.

Kakashi turned to face us again, demeanour lightening. "Congratulations, you three. You're now officially members of Team 7—meet me in front of the Hokage tower tomorrow morning for your first mission."


	14. Graduation: Part 2

"Train with us."

I spread my legs apart, hands in front of me in a measured stance. "No."

Step forward, left-hand punch. Right-hand followup.

"Why not?"

Step forward again, left palm strike, step forward, right palm strike. "'Cause."

Both hands dart forward in a rib-jab.

"That's not a good reason."

Step back, breathe, open stance. Right punch, left punch. "Tough shit."

Ino huffed and Sakura shot me an uncertain look.

"Ino-chan, maybe we should go," Sakura murmured.

"No way," Ino hissed. "You want to get better for Sasuke-kun, right?"

"Well, yeah…"

"Then we need her help."

I paused in my exercises long enough to cast them an irked look. "Find somebody else to help you train," I answered, the last word coming out in a rush as one of my hands darted forward to strike at my invisible enemy, picking up my kata again. "I'm busy."

"That's a perfect time to help us," Ino countered.

"Go away."

"Please," Sakura said. "We… we really need the help."

"You both have jonin-sensei for that," I reminded her. Left leg kicks out. Right leg kicks out. "Go bother them."

Left-hand jab, right-hand jab, half pivot. Left-hand jab, right-hand jab, close stance.

"We don't want their help for this, we want yours."

I let my muscles relax, a sigh leaving my lips. "You're not going to leave, are you?"

"No," Ino answered.

I turned to look at the two of them, standing at the entrance of the training ground, Ino with her hands on her hips and Sakura's eyes darting between her and myself.

Their clothes were, in and of themselves, the most tangible proof that my words those years ago had had some level of effect on them.

Ino had on a fitted purple tank top over top a long-sleeve ninja-mesh shirt, plain black leggings covering her legs, and her headband wrapped around her waist. Sakura had a light pink t-shirt, black shorts, and a pair of knee-high boots rather than the typical sandals, her headband hanging around her neck. Each had on kunai holsters, Sakura on her waist and Ino on her thigh.

Both of them had hints of makeup dotting their faces and perfume that I could smell from a few feet away, but they looked like kunoichi. They looked like they were ready to train. Sakura had even pulled her hair back into a thick braid rather than let it hang loose down her back.

"Alright, look," I said. "If I help you—if—you need to commit."

"We will!" Sakura cried. "Really, we will!"

"Totally," Ino agreed.

"I don't have a lot of time to train to myself as it is, so just know that I'm not here to teach you," I continued. "You can train with me, but I'm not your damn sensei. I won't be teaching you kata unless you pick up on the ones I'm practicing, I won't chase you down if you don't show up to training because I don't care whether or not you come, and I won't go easy on you. Clear?"

"Got it!"

"Yeah!"

Both of them were smiling in the wake of their success. They were excited at the thought of training with me, unaware of what they had gotten themselves into—how adorable.

My lips curled up in a feral, cheshire grin. "Then it's time for you two to get warmed up. Go run twenty laps around Konoha."

* * *

 

Kakashi stood a few feet away from me, pushed his hands through a set of signs that passed faster than my eyes could track, and spat out a human-sized fireball. I felt the heat radiating off of it as the plume of flames careened forward and decimated the training dummy that was unlucky enough to stand in its path.

"The name and list of hand signs are here," Kakashi said, reaching into his pocket and removing a scroll, tossing it in my direction. "Gather your chakra in your mouth and expel it from there—don't bother using a lot right now or you'll just burn yourself."

I plucked the scroll out of the air and unfurled it, my eyes roaming over the scant instructions. There were a couple of brief diagrams, showing the gathering of chakra in the mouth and transforming it into oil, a few sentences outlining the ignition of the oil, and then the sequence of hand signs.

I looked up, the words "is this it?" dancing on the tip of my tongue, but Kakashi was gone—he was sitting by where the boys were working on their chakra control, his book open in front of him.

Asshole.

.

.

"Kami, this tastes fucking awful!"

.

.

"Fucking—my lip! That burns so fucking bad!"

.

.

"Ow! Ow!"

.

.

Knee up, jab left, jab right.

Foot touches down. Sharp downward strike.

Left punch, pivot, right punch—

I dipped down, dodging the kunai.

Pivot.

Crouch. Leg darts out in a low sweep.

Roll forward, up, close stance.

Quick jab—

A kunai whizzed by my chin and I forced my weight back onto my heel, the blade skimming my skin. I lifted a finger up, dabbing at the blood as it leaked out.

I turned to look at Kakashi. "Seriously?" I asked. "Can you at least aim for the chin down?"

Kakashi raised an eyebrow, twirling a kunai around his index finger that he chucked at me by way of response. I dropped into a crouch and let it soar over my head. He wasn't throwing hard, to make it possible for me to dodge in the first place, but a kunai was a kunai and it would hurt like a bitch if I let one of them hit me—which was the entire point.

I huffed, retaking my stance.

Asshole.

.

.

"What's she doing?"

"You idiot—she's meditating."

"Don't call him an idiot," I said, the words leaving my mouth without a thought.

"Wait, what does that mean? It just looks like she's sleeping funny."

I didn't have to have my eyes open to know that Sasuke was rolling his eyes.

"You use it to help train your yin chakra," I said. "You focus on your yin chakra and stop focusing on the world around you."

"So then why—"

"Naruto," I said. "You know I love you, but right now, I need you to just… not talk."

"Oh," he said, letting out a sheepish laugh. "Sorry."

"It's fine."

I took in a deep breath, let it out.

In, out.

The world around me faded out and the chakra signatures of the village faded in.

A massive chunk of the village was within my sense, with the level of detail in the signatures depending on their distance. While the growth of my sense had been gradual for as long as I could remember, over the previous few months, after the point that my chakra reserves—my yin chakra especially—began to see exponential growth, the amount of detail I could ascertain and the distance of my charka sense skyrocketed.

Nobody was quite sure why or how.

Maen had figured that it had to do with my yin chakra—his theory, at least, was that the low density of my yin chakra made it easier for it to spread around when I opened my sense, as chakra sensing was based in yin chakra.

Shikaku had questioned how I could garner the level of detail that I could if my yin chakra was such a low density.

Maen had answered: bloodlimit bullshit.

Frankly, I had been satisfied with that answer. There was no way to disprove it as nobody knew a damn thing about my bloodlimit. It wasn't unheard of for a bloodlimit to come with multiple components, especially considering that my chakra sense, with the hyper-awareness it gave me of my own chakra, was a significant component towards my being able to use my bloodlimit in the first place. Combining that with the fact that my bloodlimit itself was based in my specialized yin chakra and, well, it seemed plausible.

The biggest issue was that the increased limit made it that much more difficult for me to use my chakra sense for any extended period of time; it was like reverting back to the earlier times with my chakra sense, with my range outdoing my mental capacity.

"She's still meditating?"

"Idio—"

"What did I say about name calling?"

There was a grunt. "Hn."

"Words, Sasuke-kun."

"Shut up."

"There you go! Was that so hard?"

"Hn."

I stood up and stretched, turning to face the two boys.

Kakashi had left an hour prior—or, rather, he had 'disappeared' and promptly taken residence in the branches of the nearest tree. He was testing us, I assumed, though for what I had no clue. Either way, I decided that the best course of action was to keep the boys training. It had taken a bit of cajoling—see: blackmail—to convince them both to stick around for the extra hour and continue their training together, but they had done it with minimal bickering.

"Well, I think you guys did well," I said. "Let's go out for lunch."

"Ramen!" Naruto cried, scrambling to get to his feet.

My lips stretched into a grin, though it was cut off by my wince when the action pulled at the sore, burned skin around my mouth. "Ramen," I agreed. "You're coming too, Sasuke-kun."

"No, I'm—"

"It's free food," I said. "I'll pay for us."

"Shinobi shouldn't be eating ramen," he said. "There's nothing healthy about that."

"Nah, but it tastes damn good," I said. "Come on. One lunch won't kill you."

.

.

Kakashi watched the three of them trail out of the training grounds, not missing the brief upward flick of Kasumi's middle finger from behind Naruto's back as she led the boys away, aimed in his direction.

He bit back a sigh.

He had done some terrible things in his life, he had, but he didn't think any of them were horrible enough that he should deserve being her sensei.

* * *

I trudged through the sliding door and walked into the Nara living room, stepping into the slippers that I had brought with me from home. The home was empty save a lone signature that occupied the couch a few feet in front of me.

Shikamaru looked up from the TV at my footsteps. The edge of his mouth lifted up in a smirk.

"Pyjamas?"

"Shut up," I said.

I flopped onto the couch, filling the space that he had vacated on instinct—I had the boy well trained. The action sent tingles of pain across the skin of my arms and legs, jarring the scratches that lined my limbs, battle wounds from our earlier encounter with the demon cat.

We had been given the Tora Mission.

It was our fourth D-rank of the week, with the missions getting worse rather than better as the days had progressed. It had started with gardening for a neighbourhood of retired shinobi. After that we had cleaned the home of an older civilian lady, who had taken every available opportunity to make the loveliest little comments about the musculature of my arms and the scars that littered my skin, using the same persnickety tone I imagined she took up with her granddaughters; she was an old hag. Then there was the babysitting, in which I sat through two hours of being intermittently shat and barfed on by a two-month-old—the poop that babies produced, it turned out, smelled rancid.

I had thought all of that was bad.

The Tora Mission, however, had been so much worse. Three hours trailing a damn cat across the village, two hours staked out in the forest, and a final hour of chasing the thing around and hoping that nobody saw us because there was a special form of shame that came from being outmanoeuvred by a cat.

I was cranky. I was very, very cranky.

I reached out and grabbed the TV remote, flicking through the channels.

Shikamaru groaned. "C'mon, Kas—I was watching that."

"Too bad."

"It was in the middle—"

"I don't care."

"Troublesome," he muttered.

I settled with an old cartoon that depicted a talking kunai and a scroll with a face.

It was stupid, but there was something about children's television that served to lessen the maelstrom of annoyance and frustration that churned in the back of my mind.

I wiggled around to get more comfortable and flicked my hair, a wavy mass of auburn, off my shoulder; Shikamaru grunted and pushed it back.

"Shika-chan."

"What?"

"Don't touch my hair."

"Don't put it in my face."

"Then move your face."

"Just braid it, that's what you always do when it's annoying."

"I don't have a hair elastic."

"Go get one."

"No." I turned, eyeing his hair. "You could give me yours."

"What? No."

"Or, better, you could braid my hair."

"Not a chance."

"Why not? You suggested it."

He scoffed. "I'm not braiding your hair—that's so much work."

"Then I hope you like having my hair in your face."

A pause.

I heard a sigh as the body behind me shifted.

"Sit up a little," he muttered.

I leant on my elbow, craning my neck back to look at him; his hair was sitting down around his shoulders and he had the elastic held between two fingers. "Wait, really?"

He rolled his eyes at me. "If it'll make you leave me alone then yeah, whatever."

I sat cross-legged and Shikamaru mimicked the action, with one of his legs pressing against my back and the other leaning off the arm of the couch. He pulled at my hair, tugging some of the strands and sifting through them, handling the duty of braiding my hair with all the grace one would expect out of a twelve-year-old.

"Divide it into three chunks," I said. "Each of them has to be equal."

There was grumbling but I felt him follow the instructions. It took him a minute of weaving but I heard the sound of the elastic snapping around my hair and felt the braid drop against my back; half of my hair escaped the 'braid' and splayed around my face.

I let out a snort, raising a hand to try smothering the action, a losing battle.

"Uh…"

"You did it too loose."

"What, how tight do I do it?"

"Tight enough so that it actually stays."

"Uh-huh."

Attempt number two saw no more success, the hair unravelling half-way through and slipping out of his fingers.

Another bout of chuckles that I failed to hide.

"Tight, Shika-chan."

"Whatever."

The braid was completed on the third try.

I pulled it over my shoulder. My hair was gathered into an awkward, unevenly wound pattern, with strands of hair spilling down onto my shoulders at even the slightest movement. I took one look at it and broke down in a fit of loud, ugly laughter.

Shikamaru stared at me like I'd lost my mind.

"It—I'm… I'm sorry, it's just—you can't braid!"

"No?"

"You're a damn genius with an IQ over 200, but you can't braid," I wheezed, leaning back into him and holding my ribs. "Sorry, but I just… didn't see that one coming."

I pulled at the elastic and let my hair fall loose, my fingers winding through it to work out the knots, chuckles still bubbling from my lips. In all of five seconds I had it gathered into a neat plait that fell down to the small of my back.

He blinked, his face impassive. There was a thump as he fell over and lay back down on the coach.

"You're so troublesome," he muttered, turning into the pillow and shoving his face against the fabric.

There was a grin on my face as I lay back down beside him. "Thank for trying though, Shika-chan, I appreciate it. I think I really I needed that."

"Whatever."

.

.

"Kaa-chan?"

"Yes, Shikamaru?"

"Can you show me how to braid?"


	15. Land of Waves: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update because I honestly forgot to post on here...  
> As I've said, FFN is my main posting ground, so this probably won't be the last time it slips my mind to post my updates on here.

"I—I still can't—can't believe you're letting the… the girl ta… take the front position," Tazuna slurred, his words intermingled with hiccups.

Don't say anything. Don't say anything.

"Do you not know when to shut the fuck up?"

Damn it.

"Kasumi-chan," Kakashi said, a deceptive mildness to his voice. "What did I say earlier?"

"Whatever."

I darted forward, pulling ahead of the rest of the group, as per what Kakashi had permitted—it was something of a not-quite order, really—me to do.

Naruto and Sasuke were flanking Tazuna, Kakashi was bringing up the rear, and I had been left on point, there to sense out any oncoming signatures that were heading our way. I was certain, though, that I had been placed there to keep me away from Tazuna as much as scout out the path ahead of us.

Tazuna, in all his wasted glory, was loud, smelt like liquor and vomit and stupidity, and had taken to making more than a few comments that had me wanting to punch him in the mouth.

Or the throat. Or the groin.

I wasn't picky.

Either way, leaving me in his general vicinity for any extended period of time was a bad idea all around, and Kakashi had realised that. The fact that, by that point, Konoha was no longer within the range of my chakra sense, only caused the mess of nerves brewing in the back of my mind to swell, further shortening my temper and lessening my ability to be around him.

I took to the trees instead, bobbing and weaving through the branches. The exertion was relaxing, something to focus on instead of the drunken slob that tottered along in the background, something to calm my mind.

I let the pain in my legs overwhelm the worries in my mind about what lay ahead of us.

I let the heat of the sun beating against my back swallow up the jittering voice in my mind that questioned the way my presence would alter the incoming events.

I let the burning of my lungs distract me from the longing that ached in my heart, the part of me that wanted, more than anything, to go the fuck home.

* * *

It took two days, by which point we were nearing the eastern coast of Fire Country and the edges of Konoha's reach, for the first group of thugs to blip on my radar.

I paused, anchoring myself against a tree branch with a cluster of chakra along the soles of my shoes—one, two, three of them, all advancing towards our group at a snail's pace. They were a fair distance off, enough kilometres away that I couldn't discern any details about them, save for my certainty that they were civilian.

I raised a hand to my comm and flicked it on. "Hey, I've got three."

"Oh?" came the drawled reply.

"They're, eh… six kilometres off of your position?"

"How far off of yours?" Kakashi asked.

"Five or so."

"Civilian?"

"Yep."

"What's the ETA?"

"An hour?" I guessed. "You're both moving at about the same speed, I think."

"Understood," he answered. "Go scout ahead. I want you to broadcast an analysis of all three on the public channel once you get there."

"Alright."

I shut off the comm and pushed off the branch, catapulting through the canopy of the trees with ease.

Five kilometres may not have sounded like a long way to travel, but even at shinobi speed, it was a fifteen minutes jaunt through through the trees before the targets were within visual distance.

I caught a brief glimpse of them through the cover of the leaves—three men, average height, average musculature, each with a weapon—and looped around to trail them from behind. I kept my breathing controlled and low, not wanting to risk alerting them, though I doubted that they could have detected me anyways. It was a good habit to keep up.

Creeping out to the edge of the branch I had settled on, I raised a hand and shifted the leaves out of the way, channelling as much chakra into the fine pathways of my eyes as I dared—blinding myself by accident would be a nightmare while in a mission situation, even temporarily.

A minute passed in which I observed the men and let my breathing return to normal, switching position as needed.

When my thoughts were collected I pushed my comm into the 'on' position. "I'm in position," I said.

"Hey, hey, Kaka! How's it—"

"Shut up, idiot. This is meant to be used for information delivery only."

"Don't call him an idiot."

"What she said, bastard!"

As tempting as it was to bang my head against the bark at that moment, I resisted the urge. "Don't call him a bastard."

"That's enough," Kakashi cut in, sounding less than amused. "Kasumi-chan, I believe you have a report to deliver?"

"I'm so glad you asked." I squinted, shifting forward, pulling what details I could from the retreating backs of the men. "Three men, ranging between their early twenties and early thirties. Average builds on each. Two of them have swords hanging by their sides, one left-handed and the other right-handed, while the third has a war hammer. I think the one with the war hammer is the leader—he's leading their group by a couple of feet, his posture is more upright and confident, and he's got more scarring along his skin than the other two."

"Any type of armour?" Kakashi asked.

"None," I responded. "They're just wearing civilian clothes—they're probably overconfident in their abilities."

"Keep trailing them," Kakashi ordered. "When we cross paths, I want you to attack from behind."

"Got it."

"Wha—attack from behind?" Naruto cried. "That's so dirty!"

"That's kinda the point," I said.

The sound of Kakashi sighing crackled through the earpiece. "I'm ordering radio silence on this channel," he said. "If you need to contact me, do so directly, Kasumi-chan. Otherwise, wait for my signal upon engagement."

"'Kay."

The connection died. I turned off my mic and continued on, holding my distance.

The three men didn't appear to be the most intelligent bunch, nor were they going out of their way to be conspicuous as they traversed the dirt road. They conversed in bellowing tones and had bouts of roaring laughter; they shoved each other around and stomped forward at a marching pace, leaving behind a trail that anybody with the slightest bit of tracking experience—that would be me—could follow with ease.

It was, yet again, a show of cockiness—or of vast stupidity. They either assumed they could handle anybody who might follow them or hadn't considered that somebody might try in the first place.

It didn't matter either way as even a fresh genin could handle opponents of their ilk without issue.

The minutes ticked by, the morning sun rising high into the sky as noon approached. The heat, which had been intense on its own from the onset of the day, grew worse, as per usual of the summer weather in Fire Country. I was glad that I had opted for a grey tank top and a mesh undershirt rather than a t-shirt.

I shifted closer, closing some of the distance between myself and the mercenaries once the two groups of signatures were within minutes of colliding, getting my comm prepared on reflex.

Tazuna was the first one to come into view, with Naruto and Sasuke close behind him, Kakashi at the back. While Tazuna was too inebriated to be fazed and Kakashi too experienced, Naruto and Sasuke both tensed up at the sight of the group of men. Naruto showed the signs of nerves with a higher level of clarity, from the tightening of his shoulders to the bunching of his fists in his pockets, while Sasuke displayed it in the heightened movement of his chakra signature.

I didn't feel the slightest bit of trepidation at the thought of fighting with the men, not when I knew that it would be child's play compared to what was ahead of us.

I sat back on my heels, watching with my chakra sense from under the cover of the forest and awaiting my signal.

"Lookie at what we got here," a voice said, following it up with a chuckle.

"A couple o' kiddies and two old men."

"Terrifying," a different voice agreed.

I rolled my eyes and muttered to myself, "Jackasses."

There was the barest of twitches in Kakashi's signature—I had forgotten that my comm was on.

"Hey, hey, Kakashi-sensei," Naruto said. "Can we just beat them up already?"

"Relax, idiot."

"Stop calling me that!"

I sighed and made a mental note to get back at Sasuke for that comment later.

"Come now, Naruto-kun," Kakashi said, not bothering to chastise them. "There's no need to pick a fight with everybody we come across."

"That brat ain't the one who's gonna be picking a fight, old man," one of the voices said.

I could imagine the unimpressed stare Kakashi was throwing their way in response.

The further you got from Konoha, the less likely it was that the locals would recognise you as a shinobi. Given that we were nearing the coast and the nearest Konoha outpost was a half-day trip from our location, there was a high chance that anybody we might encounter would have never seen a shinobi in their lives. Their idea of a shinobi would be built from horror stories and legends, boogeymen rather than people, an image constructed of traits taken from stories told by mothers in attempts to scare their children and tales spread by the daimyo to keep his citizens in line.

The word shinobi conjured up demons who lived in shadows rather than soldiers who wore the skin of men.

Konoha never fought to dispel that in the rural parts of the country as there was no need—they had nothing to gain from those people. It was, in fact, to their benefit to keep up that visage with those near the borders, as it deterred any form of back dealings with the other countries.

The signatures of the three men jolted, aggravated by adrenaline as they reached for their weapons and prepared for a fight that they'd never get.

Kakashi pulsed his chakra once, twice.

I abandoned my spot and hopped down onto the dirt road without a sound.

Naruto and Sasuke had placed themselves in front of Tazuna, kunai out and stances ready, though the hand that Naruto held his kunai in visibly shook, in stark contrast to the steady grip that Sasuke had on his. They had the undivided attention of the men.

Taking advantage of that fact, I ghosted up behind the man closest to me, one of the sword wielders. The heel of my foot acquainted itself with the back of his knee, slamming into the joint, his bone collapsing beneath the blow and emitting an audible crunch. He went down with a cry of pain and dismay. As his body crumbled I followed up with a knee to the ribs, sending him careening through the air and into a nearby tree.

Compared to sparring with Sasuke or Lee, the movements and reactions of the men were sluggish and pitiful, worse than Academy students.

The other two men turned to me, facing away from the boys. I cocked my head and gave a little wave.

"Wha—a little girl?"

"Hi," I said, taking a couple of steps back, making a bit of space. Right this way, assholes. "Are you sure you wanna do this?"

The other sword user hesitated, giving me an apprehensive look, his eyes darting from where I stood to the leader of his group. His comrade didn't share his good sense—the man with the war hammer appeared resolute, angered rather than dissuaded.

"Pathetic," he spat, glaring at the downed member and tightening his grip on his hammer. "What a useless piece of trash."

"Is he the only one?" I asked, goading them on. "Neither of you look particularly useful, either."

Come on, hit me, you know you want to.

They obliged.

Both of the men lunged, the one with the hammer taking the initiative and his comrade trailing behind him.

Sasuke darted forward and flew at one of the men, nailing him in the back of the head with the hilt of his kunai. I expected Naruto to attack the other man, as was the obvious action for him to take, but realised at the last second that he had remained frozen in his place.

Shit.

I threw myself to the side in an awkward, one-handed cartwheel, landing back on my feet again a few feet away.

My hand grabbed at my kunai holster and I pulled one of them out, reversing my grip on it to throw from the blade instead of the handle. The hilt smacked into the middle of the man's forehead and knocked him off balance. Sasuke took the opening and finished the job, dipping down into a low sweep to knock the man's legs out from under him and letting the momentum carry him back up, delivering a vicious round-house kick to the man's back.

There was no need to finish the job—we were strongly discouraged for ending the lives of those who weren't likely to come after us again, especially when they were citizens of the Land of Fire.

Naruto stared at us with wide eyes. His hand hadn't ceased shaking.

Sasuke spared him a smug half-glance, scoffing, walking around the group of thugs. "You're such a scaredy cat."

"Shut up," Naruto answered. The expression on his face hardened, morphing into an annoyed scowl. "I just—I knew that you two had it covered."

"Sure."

Naruto looked to me, expecting me to defend him, to tell him that what he did was alright, I supposed.

I offered him none of that.

He was a child. He hadn't been hardened by battle. He was scared and that was fine, that wasn't unexpected, nor was it unreasonable—but it was dangerous for a shinobi. If that fight had involved more than thugs that I could handle in my sleep, a slip up of that manner would could have been lethal. If that fight had been one Naruto faced on his own, he would have died for his lack of action.

There was no forgiveness for those who couldn't handle the pressure of battle. This world didn't show mercy to the weak—it devoured them. Naruto needed to learn that; to coddle him and lie to him would be unkind.

It felt like a knife twisting in my gut to do it, it left me with a hint of guilt stabbing at my heart, but I would do it.

"I'm going to move ahead again," I said, meeting Kakashi's gaze. "I'll contact you about any other potential threats."

* * *

The fire crackled in front of me, the flames spitting sparks up into to the night sky and providing an ever dimming light to guard against the otherwise impenetrable black.

Naruto and Sasuke were both out cold on either side or our meagre camp. Kakashi was laying up against the trunk of a tree, his eye shut but his signature bouncing with activity that spoke of a faint slumber which could be broken in seconds. Tazuna was staring up at the foliage above, his sleeping mat strewn out across the dirt to my left, placed close to my position so as to provide an easy defence should the need arise.

I had a small portion of my attention sectioned off to monitoring the chakra activity of the area around us while the rest was focused on the movement of the chain in front of me, the links stretching out from the bracelet that hung off of the middle of my forearm.

The grasp I had over the chain was tenuous at best. It was as if I was learning to make use of another limb, with a feather touch being insufficient and not garnering even a twitch from the chain, while a harsher touch turned it erratic. It reminded me of the learning curve that came with chakra control in general. Practice made perfect, and all that. Overthinking about the finer details of controlling the chain muddied the effect and with enough time, moving them would become something akin to second nature—that was what the shopkeeper had told to me, at least.

I wasn't certain I bought that, but given that he had made eight rings and two bracelets, and had intended for them to all be used at the same time, there had to be some truth to it.

The rings, with their thinner chains, were more difficult to learn with. I carried them around in a pouch that was attached to the back of my waistband, as a precautionary measure, but in practice, the bracelets were easier to use. The other perk to using the bracelets was that it left my hands open—punching somebody with rings on hurt like a bitch if you didn't know how to cushion the blow with chakra in just the right way. I may have been good, but that was still a bit above my level.

The chain stretched out a few metres in front of me, whirling and curling, shifting and flowing with the light breeze that swept through the air, appearing almost ethereal.

"You should go to sleep," I said, my eyes locked on the chain and the chakra that coated them. "We'll be leaving before it's light out."

"How'd you know I wasn't asleep?" Tazuna grunted.

He sounded as sober as I had heard him since we departed Konoha.

Your muscles are too stiff, your chakra is too active, and you snore like a fucking foghorn while you sleep. "Ninja shit."

"That's it, huh?"

"That's it."

"Even you little brats are impossible."

"Yeah."

Tazuna shifted, groping at his bag for his bottle of sake and taking a swig. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, his joints popping and cracking at the movement, and he settled into a cross-legged position with a sigh.

"Y'know," he said, tipping his bottle back again, "I've been meaning to ask you—what's somebody with a Wave accent doing in Konoha."

"It's not a Wave accent," I answered.

"It may be dulled, gaki, but that's a Wave accent."

I rolled my eyes. "Don't be stupid—it's not a Wave accent."

"Yeah? Then what is it, huh?"

"None of your fucking business, that's what."

I had long since stopped bothering to dull my words with Tazuna. There wasn't any reason to avoid offending him, as there would be no action taken against me for doing so—what could he do by that point? Send us away? Complain to the village? Not a chance.

If he wanted my respect he could earn it like anybody else. Being a rude, nosy old drunk who had knowingly put four people in danger and spent the entire trip demeaning us wasn't helping his case any.

Tazuna leant his head back and chugged the contents of the sake bottle, tossing the empty container onto his sack. "Have it your way," he said, raising a hand to wipe it across his lips. "Stuffy shinobi."

He collapsed back down onto his mat, rolling onto his side and facing away from me.

Two more hours passed before I had to rouse everybody except Tazuna to finish our trek to the coast.

.

.

The encounter with the Demon Brothers kicked off not when I came across a puddle on a dry dirt road, but when I stumbled on a couple of inconspicuous girls wandering the road who had the signatures of shinobi and a fuzz around them that spoke of a henge.

I had gone ahead but didn't have my chakra sense extended to it's full potential, putting the two men within spitting distance of the rest of our group, no more than half a kilometre.

The second their signatures hit my sense I altered my path, veering left to leave space between myself and them, not wanting to risk alerting them if I got too close. I looped around and took up a position that situated me at their flanks.

A hand switched my comms on. "Hey, Kakashi-sensei," I murmured. "There's a couple of shinobi up this way and they're on a direct course to where you guys are."

There was a beat of silence. "Are there?"

"Yeah," I answered. "It's kind of hard to tell, 'cause there's a henge around both of them, but I think they're either genin or chunin—whichever, I can guarantee that they're not civilians."

"Good work," he replied, the tightness in his voice audible even through the speaker. "Return back to our position."

"On my way."

The scene that greeted me when I landed in front of them was a Not Happy Kakashi staring down Tazuna, Naruto and Sasuke both watching the scene unfold from a few feet away. Kakashi had led the group off of the main road, parking it behind a couple of trees in the forests that lined the path, out of sight from those who would be heading through.

Tazuna was, as any sane person would be, shitting bullets under the gaze of Kakashi, leaning away from him and averting his eyes down to the ground, a bead of sweat dripping down from his forehead.

"Now that we're all here," Kakashi drawled, "care to explain why there are two shinobi currently heading our way?"

"I don't know," Tazuna said, further shuffling back. "They might just—they might just be wandering shinobi. Your folk do that sometimes, don't they?"

"Both of them are disguised," I put in. "They're walking in this direction henged as civilian girls. If they were just regular missing-nin then they would have been travelling at shinobi speed and they wouldn't be taking an open path like they are. Plus, there's nobody else within about six kilometres—I checked. Whatever they want, it involves us specifically."

Kakashi stared, appraising me with his one steely eye, and gave a slow nod. "She's correct. The trap they've set is one intended for a civilian, not shinobi, meaning that they aren't after my team—they're after you. So, I'm going to ask again, and you're going to answer me: why are there two shinobi coming towards us?"

Tazuna took a swig of sake and proceeded to spill his guts to our group.

I didn't listen; I knew the gist of what he was saying, had that much stored in the back of my head along with the rest of the bits of knowledge I retained about the world I was in. I spent the time tracking the two signatures that made their way towards where we were, monitoring them as they grew closer.

"Kakashi-sensei, we gotta help them!" Naruto cried, pulling my attention back to the conversation at hand. "He's just trying to help his village!"

"He lied to us," I said. "He put all of us in danger."

"For a good reason," Naruto said. He huffed, shooting me a look out of the corner of his eyes. "We're shinobi, we're supposed to help people."

"We're supposed to do our job," I countered. "Taking on a mission like this is beyond what our job calls for."

"I don't care! I wanna help this guy—come on, Kaka, you should too!"

"What, do you think we can't handle it?" Sasuke asked.

"Not really, no."

"I'll be the one fighting the shinobi while you three will handle the mercenaries that we encounter," Kakashi cut in. His voice held no room for contest. "I doubt Gato has anybody at his disposal that's capable of beating me in a fight."

If only you knew.

I frowned, crossing my arms over my chest, a bitter taste tainting my mouth.

There was nothing I could do. While pushing boundaries happened to be a pastime of mine there were limits to what I could do, lines that even I could recognise were not to be crossed—fighting a commanding officer on a direct order was one of them. He wasn't offering us a potential plan of attack, he was giving us the plan of attack; there was no room for negotiation.

Kakashi was our asshole of a sensei, that much was true, but beyond that, he was our superior. That had to be shown respect, whether or not I liked it.

Fuck this, fuck you, take me the fuck home. "That means you'll be dealing with the two shinobi heading our way?"

"It does."

"They're a minute off if they keep their pace," I told him. "Their signatures have been getting more active the closer they get—I'm not really sure what specifically has their chakra aggravated, though."

Kakashi nodded. "All of you form a defensive position around Tazuna-san. I'll signal you when I'm done."

* * *

 

A sprawling, monstrous amalgamation of chakra smacked against my sense and every muscle in my body seized on instinct, alarm bells blaring and red flags waving in my mind.

Zabuza.

The lapse in attention caused my foot to slip against the branch in front of me, having not had any chakra coating it to keep its grip. I righted myself mid-air, catching hold of the next outstretched limb with my hands and swinging myself back up, gaining a foothold on the nearest branch. Without a seconds hesitation I pivoted and launched myself in the other direction.

He was close. He was moving faster than I was. He was making a bee-line for my location.

Fuck.

He shouldn't have been there—the village that we were headed towards was half a day's walk, at best.

I made a quick hand seal and released the weight from around my wrists and my ankles, fumbling mid-air for the second time in a one minute span, the sudden lightness of my limbs throwing off my centre of gravity. I forced myself to recover and pushed ahead at twice the speed I had been travelling at.

"Uh, Kakashi-sensei," I said, not missing the shake in my voice. "There's—there's a shinobi coming, and he—he feels like he's a jonin, at least."

"How far behind you?"

"Thirty seconds," I answered. "He's… he's faster than I am."

"I'm on my way—just stay calm, alright, Kasumi-chan?"

Calm was the exact opposite of how I felt at that moment.

I let out a breathless laugh. "Easy for you to say."

Something about having an A-rank missing-nin on my tail lit a fire under my ass like nothing else and my legs carried me through the trees at speeds I had never imagined they were capable of reaching. I forced myself to focus on the chakra signature of Kakashi hurtling towards me instead of the signature of Zabuza that was gaining on me at a steady pace.

Zabuza was ten seconds behind me, at most, when I emerged from the forest and Kakashi came into sight, kunai in hand and Sharingan blazing, his chakra signature crackling with adrenaline.

He stood in the middle of a clearing, one which had no water within the vicinity.

What the fuck.

I hit the ground at a crouch, letting my knees fold with the impact. I stood again, opening my mouth to speak, when every hair on the back of my neck stood on end.

Panic jolted through my limbs, my adrenaline skyrocketed, my blood roared in my ears.

The yin chakra from my shadow slid over my skin of its own accord and I flung myself to the side, not caring about anything except getting out of the way as a sword bigger than my entire body sliced through the air in the exact spot in which I had stood. The ground scraped against the skin of my shoulder, rocks lodged themselves in the fresh wound, pain burned across the whole of my right arm, but I hadn't been turned into a human shish-kebab.

I was alive.

I pushed myself up into a sitting position, the yin chakra falling back into its place as my panic ebbed away again.

Kakashi had moved to occupy a chunk of my line of sight, turning himself into a human shield. Zabuza was across from him, his sword buried into the trunk of a tree and one hand settled on the hilt of it, his amusement tinged eyes boring into mine.

"Well, look at what we have here," he rumbled. "A wee little girl playing kunoichi and Kakashi of the Sharingan."

"How astute of you," Kakashi answered.

Zabuza yanked at the hilt of his sword, the bark cracking around the blade as it dislodged itself from the trunk and sunk into the ground at his side. "I suppose you're going to tell me you don't know where the bridge builder is, right?"

"Afraid so."

"Pity," Zabuza. "I'll just have to kill you both and go hunt him down myself—I doubt it'll be that hard. I can already smell the sake from here."

There was a spike in Zabuza's chakra and he rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, opened his stance; killing intent spread out around him.

Being overwhelmed by killing intent felt the way that I assumed drowning did.

Thick, oozing energy, tainting the air you breathe and constricting your lungs, clogging your throat and weighing down your chest. It was copious and sticky, like tar seeping through your pores and coating your insides.

I choked as I attempted to inhale. My hand rose to my mouth, my throat. Tears sprang to my eyes.

I couldn't breathe.

Knowing why it was happening didn't do anything to lessen the shock and panic and discomfort. The chakra in my shadow curled upwards again, reacting to my distress, layering over my skin even as I tried to push it down.

"Kasumi-chan, calm down. I'm not going to let anything happen to you—you're going to be fine."

Fine. Fine. Fine.

I forced myself to intake air around the killing intent, to centre myself, to relax.

Fine, fine, fine.

I forced myself to get up onto my feet.

Fine, fine.

I forced my knees to stay straight, to not wobble, to hold my weight.

Fine.

I was fine.

"Understood," I croaked.

Kakashi spared me a brief glance over his shoulder. "Good. Go regroup with the rest of the team."

The order to defend Tazuna went unsaid.

"Hai, Kakashi-sensei."

My legs felt like noodles, limp and uncooperative, tremors running through them as an after-effect of the killing intent, but I managed to work my way out of the clearing and into the forest, not missing the way that Zabuza's signature jolted in my direction and Kakashi's followed to intercept.

Zabuza wasn't stupid. He knew what was going on, what game we were playing at.

I felt around the forest and located Haku's signature hovering not far off, poised to interrupt the fight at any given moment, and Naruto and Sasuke and Tazuna's signatures, a half minute run off of my location and heading in my direction. If I were to guess, they were going against orders that Kakashi had given them.

Oh, great.

That was exactly what I wanted to deal with at that moment, another thing to add to the confusion and fear that was already clouding my thoughts.

It had begun to hit me that I didn't have a damn clue what was going to happen to Kakashi. None. Not a single idea. That was because the Wave Mission I had thus far experienced didn't in any way, shape, or form, match up with the one that ran through my head.

We had run into mercenaries, unlike what I recalled.

We had had an encounter with the Demon Brothers that was foreign to me.

We had met up with Zabuza at a different time, in a different location, and in a different manner.

Something was messing around with the events of this mission and it didn't take a genius to figure out what—it was me.

My presence had caused the entire damn mission to take on a new form and that thought did nothing to assuage the fear and apprehension that I felt about the situation, serving to worsen them instead. The knowledge I had could, for all intents and purposes, be thrown out the window for what use it would be to me.

I stopped in my tracks when the three of them entered my vision, Naruto and Sasuke running with Tazuna on the latter's back.

"What the hell are you two—"

"Kaka!"

Naruto ran forward, ploughing into me and wrapping his arms around my upper body in a bear-hug. Fire burned in my shoulder and I jerked back, a yelp escaping my lips. Naruto let go, jumping away with wide eyes, taking note of the injury to my shoulder.

Naruto opened his mouth to say something but Sasuke beat him to it, asking "Where's Kakashi-sensei?"

"He's back there," I said. "He's fighting a missing-nin."

"What?" Naruto cried. "Hey—we gotta go help him!"

"Uh, no we don't."

"We can't just leave him! What's with you?" he exclaimed, looking at me with narrowed eyes. "We have to help our teammate!"

"He's our sensei, not our teammate," I said, "and he's fully capable of helping himself."

Probably.

Hopefully.

"We still need to try and help," Naruto insisted.

"If we try and help him, Naruto, we're just going to get in the way," I said. "We should stay back here, let him fight for himself, and keep the client safe."

Naruto balled his fists at his sides, his chakra fluctuating. "No!"

He flew past me and took off in the vague direction of the fight.

"Naruto!"

"Idiot," Sasuke muttered.

For once, I felt no desire to correct him.

"I'm going to go after him," I said. "Can you stay—"

"I'm coming."

The desire to rip my hair out, however, was growing with each second that passed. "No! Kakashi-sensei ordered us to watch the client."

"I can do both," he said. "I'm not letting you and the idiot go do something stupid and jeopardise the mission."

"For fuck's sake—fine, but you're carrying the client. I can't with my shoulder injured."

"Hn."

We didn't manage to catch up to Naruto. With my body still trembling from the after-effects of the killing intent and Sasuke weighed down by the body on his back, neither of us were in the condition required to make it in time.

I felt as Naruto's signature reached the epicentre of the battle, jolted at the sight, and sprung forward.

My blood ran cold.

Zabuza's signature twisted towards Naruto; Kakashi's signature twisted towards Naruto.

The three masses of chakra blended in a collision that blurred on my sense.

I pushed my legs harder, harder, harder, pulling ahead of Sasuke.

Another clash, a second, a third, a fourth. Both signatures were getting dimmer, lower, while Naruto's held at a steady pace behind Kakashi, always behind Kakashi. We were feet away when a third signature entered the fray and I watched the senbon pierce Zabuza's skin in the same second that I charged through the treeline.

All that was left to see was the aftermath.

Kakashi had one hand clamped down on his forearm to cover a nasty gash, blood leaking from various other points of his body, and a very empty chakra system, but he was alive. Zabuza lay on the ground at his feet. Haku, with his mask covering his face and his fingers lined with senbon, stood in front of Kakashi, engaged in a low conversation with him.

Naruto was on the ground behind Kakashi, his eyes wide and locked on Kakashi's back and brimming with tears, but he wasn't my first concern at that moment because I could feel the faint flicker of Zabuza's chakra, marking him as alive, oh so alive.

I made a decision in that moment.

My hand reached down towards my kunai pouch.

We weren't playing around. Our mission wasn't a game. We were in a real field environment with real consequences to our actions. It was a life or death situation and throwing an A-rank shinobi who could hold his own against our sensei and prodigy with Ice Release into the mix tilted the scales further towards the latter. Worse was that, by that point, I knew that I was going in blind.

Fingers, slick with perspiration, curled around the grip of the kunai.

Could the mission have a happy ending, with all of us making it home safe and sound? That was possible. Could the mission go sideways—as was the long-running theme for Team 7—and leave all of us injured, dead, or permanently scarred? That was also possible—in that fact, I took issue.

The blade of the kunai scraped against the holster as I drew it.

I refused to face a possible death sentence when the solution to avoiding it was right in my face. There was no reason to take a chance if there was a way to get out of it. I knew that on my own, I couldn't take out Haku, I couldn't eliminate that threat, I couldn't give us that extra bit of safety—but Kakashi could. He was suspicious, that much I was certain hadn't changed. He knew that something was off. All I had to do was give the situation a push.

The weapon shook in my hand, my hold so tight that the lines of the leather wrapped around the grip of the kunai would be engraved in the skin of my palm.

I could do it. I could do it.

Kakashi, from where he stood, noted the action, his uncovered grey eye darting over to me as his muscles tensed.

I would do it.

I cocked an arm and threw the kunai, the tip zipping towards Zabuza's neck.

Haku moved to intercept the kunai in a flash of motion, batting it away with an outstretched hand. Kakashi followed him, striking like a viper—in one single, fluid movement, Kakashi had a kunai embedded into Haku's throat.


	16. Land of Waves: Part 2

Kakashi staggered forward, empty handed.

Haku fell to the ground at his feet, a kunai jammed in the front of his neck and blood pouring from the wound in a waterfall of crimson. His head impacted with the ground and the mask tumbled off his face, revealing the visage of a boy who didn't deserve to die in as horrendous of a fashion as he would, choking on his own blood and bleeding out into the dirt. His eyes were wide and one hand fluttered around his throat, his feeble attempts at dislodging the weapon for naught.

Kakashi had a hint of pity in his eyes as he stooped down and finished the job, pulling another kunai from his holster and severing Haku's windpipe in a single jerk; all I could hear was gurgling while Haku struggled for a breath he was incapable of intaking.

My mouth burned with acid but I managed to fight down the vomit—Naruto and Sasuke both failed in that venture.

He was so young. He was so fucking young.

A boy, a child, trapped in a world where those were a dime a dozen because reality crushed them underfoot without mercy. Up until that point, there were few times in my life as Kasumi Kurosawa where I felt old, really, truly old, the cumulative old that my soul must have been—that was one of them.

Kakashi turned towards us, his feet stumbling over each other at the movement, and a cold dread settled in my gut. He was battling blood loss and chakra exhaustion and from the fluttering of his eyes, the bare shake in his hand, he was losing.

I jolted forward even as I knew I couldn't get there in time to catch Kakashi as he collapsed.

My mind pulled up every bit of first-aid that had been drilled into us while we were still at the Academy, one of the few things I had deigned to pay attention to and learn sooner rather than later. I fell to my knees at his side and ignored the quivering of my own hands, my fingers ripping off a chunk of fabric from the bottom of my tank top to use as a bandage—why hadn't I packed first aid supplies, for fuck's sake, of all the things to forget—the information stored in my head warning me that I needed to patch up the gash on his arm; the amount of blood dribbling from the wound was a cause for concern.

There wasn't jack shit that I could do for his chakra exhaustion, but I could keep him from facing severe blood loss if I was diligent.

The injury to his arm was—thankfully—the lone major point of external damage. The other lacerations to his skin were nothing to scoff at but none of them were severe, either, not bleeding with enough fervor to warrant a risk to his life. I placed my hands on the bottom of my tank-top, prepared to further mutilate the shirt, when a jacket was tossed into my lap.

Naruto was standing at my shoulder, his eyes not yet dry and his arms bare.

"What—"

"Use that instead," he mumbled.

He had given me his jacket, his favourite jacket, the one that he wore every single day of his life no matter what the weather, to dismantle and use as makeshift bandages cover the wounds of our sensei, wounds that he no doubt felt some level of responsibility for.

I nodded and ripped a massive strip of fabric off of the hem of the jacket.

I pulled from the cleanest part of it for the sake of keeping the wounds as sterile as possible—nine times out of ten, when a minor wound killed somebody, it was through infection rather than blood loss. None of the bandaging needed to hold for long; as soon as it was available to me, I would have to remove all of wrappings and disinfect the wounds.

"What are we going to do with the bodies?" Sasuke asked.

I spared him a glance. His skin was pale and clammy but he was on his feet, staring at the corpse of Haku with barely contained revulsion.

"It's only one body right now," I answered, tying off the last of the bandages.

His expression tightened. "You mean—"

"The big guy's alive."

"What do we do?" Naruto asked.

I stood, brushing off the dirt from my pants with hands that refused to steady. "I'm going to clean up."

"Why you?" Sasuke asked. He turned to me with taunt shoulders and narrowed eyes, a challenge in his posture. "I'm capable of—"

"Don't throw a hissy fit, I'm not saying you can't do it, just that you aren't the best suited to do it," I snapped. My chest was tight and my lips were dry and I was in no mood for squabbling with a boy whose pride was rearing it's head. "I'm going to clean up while you and Naruto start heading towards Tazuna-san's house with him. Unlike either of you, I can track you while you move ahead and catch up with you later. Bitch at me later, if you have to, but you're not stupid—you know I'm right about this."

The clenching of his jaw and the tightening of his fists was all the confirmation I needed.

Sasuke wasn't stupid. That fact was something he prided himself on, held over the heads of those around him, Naruto most of all. I knew that, when in doubt, shoving Sasuke into that corner was a somewhat-reliable way to bend him to my whims as taking an action deemed to be 'stupid', especially when said by somebody other than him, was one of the last things he'd want to do.

I held no qualms about manipulating a twelve-year-old for both his sake and my own when the need arose.

"I know where we are," Tazuna said. Of all of us, he was the least bothered by the overwhelming smell of blood, the sight of a dead body. "The house is this way."

Sasuke gave a curt nod and followed after Tazuna as he moved out of the clearing. Naruto went to mimic the movement but his feet halted as he brushed past me, his gaze lingering on my face, uncertain, nervous, scared.

He was shaking.

So was I.

That said, I had no plans of letting either of them deal with that mess. As much as I wanted them to know the reality of their world, their job, their lives, there was a line that separated a wake-up call from permanent mental scarring and, for a couple of twelve-year-olds, the snapping of a neck and the disposal of corpses via incineration crossed it.

I didn't want to do it either, not one bit, but it was my choice that landed us in that particular situation and the responsibility to fix things belonged on my shoulders and my shoulders alone, not theirs. I would have rather turned and walked away. I would have rather pretended none of it ever happened and kept going with the mission and not given it a second thought.

Neither of those were options, though. Zabuza had to be taken out of the picture. The bodies had to be cleaned up to avoid leaving evidence of the fight. The path I took and the actions I made had repercussions and I had to hike up my panties and deal with that.

I raised a hand to his shoulder and gave it a brief squeeze.

The group of three departed the clearing and I waited for their signatures to be a fair distance off before I approached the prone body of Zabuza, crouching behind his head.

His skin was cold against my palms as I placed one hand on his chin, the other behind his head, and, with a bit of chakra, simultaneously jerked his chin to the side and yanked back on his skull, snapping his neck clean in half in a single fluid motion. The sound, a sickening crack, echoed in my ears and shattered the silence that reigned over the clearing, reverberating with enough force that part of me wondered if Naruto and Sasuke and Tazuna might have been privy to it, far away as they were.

Dead.

One.

I had thought I felt old moments earlier—that sensation of being old, old, old, compounded in on itself as in that moment, I became a killer.

Once again, I fought down the bile and acid that raced up my throat and threatened to spill out of my mouth.

At least with Haku it had been Kakashi to land the final blow. I had contributed, without a doubt, but my hands weren't the ones to grasp the kunai and spill the blood—the same couldn't be said about Zabuza. A voice in my head reminded me that there was a chance they both would have died in the future regardless of my contribution, but the fact that it was a chance, no longer a certainty, at that point, lessened the comfort.

Nothing was certain. Nothing was certain.

Pondering on whether things would have gone one way or another was useless because it didn't matter any longer. I had made my choice, I had dug my grave, and for better or for worse, I had to lie in it.

I took in a breath and forced myself to focus, ignoring the hollowness of my chest and the numbness of my fingers, the cold that froze my core and the haze that clouded my mind. My job wasn't done yet. There was work to do. I could cry, wallow, languish in the absurd level of shitty that I felt when there wasn't a duty that needed completing.

I needed to finish cleaning up. I needed to burn the bodies.

There was no water to toss them into. I had no jutsu I could use to bury the bodies. There were no scrolls on hand that were capable of containing organic materials. The only option was to cremate them and scatter the remains in hopes of lessening the potency of their scent.

I supposed it was lucky that Kakashi had deigned to teach me a katon jutsu following the conception of Team 7.

While Kakashi had demonstrated the jutsu to me as a fireball, through practice and what minimal information I had pulled from the instructional scroll, I had found it easier to expel the flames in a stream—that happened to be ideal for what I was about to do. The added properties that the fire gained from being produced by chakra rather than any natural means helped, as well, with the flames that the jutsu produced burning brighter and causing more destruction, having been designed to do so.

Ten minutes in, with the bodies halfway to becoming ash, with my chakra reserves dented, was when the stench of charred flesh overwhelmed my nose and forced me to give in to the urge to gag.

Finally, I vomited.

I made it to the tree-line, the place where it could most easily be covered up, and emptied out the contents of my stomach, keeling over and retching for more minutes that I cared to admit. Tears streamed from my eyes, all of the muscles in my body contracted on instinct. Even after my stomach had emptied I dry heaved, my body attempting to purge what was no longer there, my free-hand gripping onto the nearest tree-trunk for dear life and managing to keep myself standing.

A hand dragged across my lips, wiping them clean.

I kicked up some soil and covered it up, tossed a clump of moss atop it, and trudged back into the clearing.

Finishing the process of burning the bodies consumed half my chakra reserves and all of my self control, but even when all that sat at my feet was ash, charred bones poking out of the piles, I wasn't done.

The bones had to be disposed of and the ashes had to be dispersed and the rest of the vomit and blood had to be covered with dirt.

My knees gave in and I fell back onto the ground, but I wasn't done.

The bones had to be disposed of and the ashes had to be dispersed and the rest of the vomit and blood had to be covered with dirt.

Sobs racked my body and my hands were shaking, trembling, far beyond my control and with a mind of their own, blurred through the tears that pooled in my eyes, but I wasn't done.

The bones had to be disposed of and the ashes had to be dispersed and the rest of the vomit and blood had to be covered with dirt.

I wasn't done, I wasn't done, I wasn't done.

There was so much to do, so much to fix.

I wasn't done.

A hand rose to clamp over my mouth and muffle the sob.

I wasn't done. The bones had to be disposed of and the ashes had to be dispersed and the rest of the vomit and blood had to be covered with dirt. I wasn't done.

A minute on the ground turned into two, into three, ten, fifteen.

When there was no more water left in my system to cry I picked myself up and carried on.

.

.

I sat at the kitchen table, the sounds of Tsunami puttering around the kitchen, the cacophony of pots and pans and glass clinking together in a sink, serving as white noise to occupy the processes of my mind.

On the table in front of me sat a scroll that held one of Kirigakure's legendary swords.

Konoha protocol dictated that I leave no trace of the fight. There could be no corpses, no bodily fluids, and no weapons remaining once I departed from the scene, meaning that the giant butcher knife—which somehow qualified as a sword—couldn't remain the in the clearing without causing a major infraction.

I sealed it up and brought it with me; I had no desire to admit that I disregarded protocol, nor did I want to end up having to lie about it in a mission report. Thus, there it was, rolling back and forth on the kitchen table, an innocuous sight to any unknowing eye.

What Konoha would do with the sword, what I would do with the sword, was a massive question mark. I had settled on stashing it in my bag and forgetting about it for the foreseeable future, lacking the mental capacity to give anything more than a passing thought at that moment. I was exhausted, my muscles aching from having spent the entire day leaping through the trees and my mind in chaos, the image of a kunai ripping into flesh flashing over my sight, the sound of bones snapping echoing in my ears, the fetor of blood refusing to vacate my nostrils.

The scroll jumped an inch off the surface of the table as a bottle was slammed down beside it.

I jolted, straightening in the chair, my hand reaching to my kunai holster and my eyes widening on instinct. Tazuna stared back at me, his hand falling to his side.

He sat down at the table, landing in the chair across from me with a heavy thud. "This is all we have."

"Thanks." I swept both objects up and pushed my chair back, making it to the doorway of the kitchen before I paused, looking over my shoulder at him. "Also, for future reference: if you aren't suicidal, I don't suggest startling a shinobi. We don't take kindly to it."

I disappeared before he could reply.

The house was small, old, and creaked with every step that I took, a constant rhythm of groans accompanying me as I walked up towards the room Kakashi and I were sharing. The stairwell was narrow, as was the hallway that greeted me upon reaching the top of it. One of the four beat-up doors that lined the walls was cracked open.

That was where I was headed.

Kakashi lay on top of the bed, comatose, his mask in place, his skin covered in a litany of bandages. Naruto stood at his side and stared down at the massive stretch of wrappings that lined Kakashi's forearm, his hands clenched into fists. His chakra was bubbling and swirling, as it always did whenever Naruto was upset.

"You should go downstairs and help Tsunami-san with dinner," I murmured, leaning my shoulder against the doorway as I watched him. "I'm sure she'd appreciate any help we can give her."

Naruto paid my words no mind, not even looking up at me. "How bad is he hurt?"

My head hit the frame as well. "He'll be in some pain from them when he wakes up, and he might have a couple new scars, but otherwise he'll be fine. I just need to replace the bandages and disinfect everything."

"They're my fault."

"They are," I agreed, my voice blank, my expression blank, my eyes blank.

His hands shook and the first of the tears began to fall. "I didn't—I didn't mean to… I just wanted to help, because that's what I'm supposed to do, right? I just wanted to help! He wasn't supposed to…" Naruto raised a hand to scrub at his eyes, his voice cracking. "He wasn't supposed to get hurt… I didn't help you, and you almost got hurt! So then I couldn't let that happen to Kakashi-sensei, because then I'd be a bad teammate but I just—but I just made it worse." His eyes, those gorgeous, glistening azure eyes, were clouded and dulled by the tears that had pooled in their rims. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry! I don't… I should've listened…"

A lump settled in my throat. There were no words I had to offer as a response.

Instead, I pushed off of the doorframe, walked around the bed and wrapped my arms around him in an embrace that was all the comfort I could give. Like before, I couldn't tell him it was okay, I couldn't say that it wasn't his fault. It wasn't okay and it was his fault. He knew that, though, had said as much himself, which was what really mattered—there was no reason for me to rub salt in the wounds.

Naruto made no move to return the hug. He stood there, head bowed, shaking, and cried until the sobbing settled down into sniffles.

When he was done I stepped back and nodded towards the door. "Go on," I said, rubbing at my own eyes. "Tsunami-san was just starting when I headed up here."

.

.

Night came and I didn't want to sleep.

The first half of the night was spent running around the forest, pushing my body, exerting myself beyond the bounds that I knew were healthy, until I lacked the energy to do more than stumble back to the house in a mindless stupor.

I showered. I sat on my bed in the room Kakashi and I were sharing. I stared out the window for an hour. I attempted to close my eyes. I saw the deaths replayed in front of my mind's eye, saw the smoke, saw the flames. I opened my eyes again. I stared out the window for another hour.

Something was missing. Someone was missing.

There was nothing that could be done about that, though. I could ache for him all I wanted but it wouldn't change the fact that he wasn't with me, that he was back home, that he couldn't be there to hug me and run his fingers through my hair and talk down the horrors that haunted my thoughts.

I heaved a sigh, jumped off the bed, padded over to the bag that sat abandoned in the corner of the room and removed my pad of paper and drawing utensils from it.

He may not have been there to help me through the night, but there was another person in the house who was awake. Even if they weren't who I wanted and weren't somebody who would make any move to comfort me, weren't somebody that I would even want to try and comfort me, having somebody around was better than having nobody around.

The soft sounds of snoring greeted me as I pushed the door open and slipped into the room, closing it behind me. Naruto didn't react to my entrance at all, out cold on his cot; Sasuke shot me a sideways glance and a frown from where he sat on his bed, legs crossed under him, hands in his lap, poised in a meditative position.

His eyes stayed locked on me the entire way as I walked from the door to the window sill on the other side of the room, one which resembled the ledge that I had in my own room. A little narrower, lacking the plants, but with a clear view of the night sky, the stars, the moon, all the same.

I settled down and let the page consume my thoughts.

A couple of minutes passed in silence, save for the scratching of my pencil skating across the paper. The shaky outline of a head, a jawline, the contours of a nose, rough shape of the eyes.

"What are you doing in here?"

"You don't have to whisper," I murmured. "He sleeps like the dead."

"Answer my question," he pushed.

The lips, thin, tipping up at the corner.

"Why are you still awake?" I threw back at him, my eyes darting up and my eyebrow raising.

"I'm still awake in my room."

The edges of hair spiking out from a ponytail at the back of his head.

"I can't sleep," I said. My shoulders rose in a shrug. "You weren't asleep either."

Sasuke grunted and closed his eyes again, returning to his meditation.

I kept up my sketch, letting the familiar sounds of snoring and the familiar chakra signature a few feet away lull my nerves. I didn't expect to get any significant amount of sleep that night, truth be told, more I was hoping to manage a few hours of uninterrupted rest, knowing that the nightmares were inevitable—stress and trauma were a nasty combination.

I shaded the hair with long strokes, feather touches of the pencil.

"Who is that?"

I paused and cast him another glance. "My guardian."

He blinked. His face didn't change, nor did he say anything else, but I felt his chakra ripple and I got the distinct sense that I had surprised him with the answer.

The finished image stared back at me. A languid half-grin, relaxed posture, his back propped up against a tree and a book open in his lap, a few of the deer meandering in the background. It helped to have a vision of home, in some ways, but in others it felt as if the ache had become more poignant rather than less.

I flipped the page and began anew, decorating the blank canvas with a different visage. Long hair that swept down her shoulders, down her back, much like my own. The gentle smile that I imagined her to wear stretched her lips and dimpled her cheeks, reaching all the way up into her eyes, which I knew without question were a rich caramel, though I lacked the tools to colour them as such. Her hands were clasped in front of her. The image was one I had drawn with such frequency that I could have completed it in my sleep.

Sasuke studied me the entire time in silence.

He hadn't asked the question I could tell he wanted to by the time I had put the finishing details on the sketch.

"It's my kaa-chan," I said, my attention not straying from the pad in front of me, my legs drawn inwards and the page balancing on my knees. "As well as I can remember her, I mean."

The words were unbidden, slipping past my lips before I could fully register what I was saying, though I couldn't bring myself to care by that point—whether I would feel the same in the morning was questionable.

Again, Sasuke took the words without offering any of his own.

I wasn't bothered as I hadn't expected him to. It seemed that unless there was mocking to be done or questions to be asked or demands to be made, Sasuke was a person of few words.

Ignoring the leaden feeling of my limbs I closed up the sketch pad and stepped down, stretched my arms above my head. The sun would be up in three hours, at which point I would be accompanying Tazuna to the bridge to keep watch on him and the workers, something that would be easier if I got the chance to rest even a couple of hours. Going days without sleep was possible for me but it wasn't preferable, not when I would need my senses sharp and functional the next day.

"I'm going to sleep," I said. "You should too."

"Hn."

"Seriously."

"Hn."

"Fine, whatever."

"Hn."


	17. Land of Waves: Part 3

I twirled my spoon around the bowl of soup, my eyes drifting off to stare at the still-dark morning sky. An untouched cup of tea—green and with a hint of honey—sat on the kitchen table in front of me, wisps of steam curling off its surface.

"How's your sensei doing?"

I turned to look at Tazuna, not stopping the absent motion of my hand. "Alright. He's at no risk of bleeding out and isn't showing any sign of infection."

The sounds of utensils scraping against bowls and food being chewed droned on in the background, Sasuke and Tsunami both in the process of finishing their meals as well. Naruto was upstairs, sound asleep, as he was staying behind for the day to help Sasuke keep watch on the house.

Aside from a brief, half-second glance at Inari the night prior, he had avoided us like the plague, remaining holed up in his room during dinner and refusing to come down for breakfast, despite the fact that his chakra signature indicated that he was awake.

It was probably for the best.

"Why hasn't he woken up yet?" Tazuna asked around a bite of his breakfast.

"Chakra exhaustion," I answered. "If we're lucky, he'll come around again today, but I doubt it. It'll probably at some point tomorrow that he wakes up."

"Great. Guess I'm just stuck with you brats for now, then."

"Sucks to suck," I muttered.

A tired, half hearted scoff sounded to my right; Sasuke was staring down at his plate but there was the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Which one of you is coming with me?" he asked.

"I am," I said. "Sasuke-kun and Naruto agreed to take charge of watching the house while I go with you to the bridge."

There had been, to my surprise, no resistance from either of the boys when I proposed that arrangement the night prior. Naruto didn't seem eager to protest anything I said at this point and, somehow, Sasuke had had no desire to spend any extended amount of time alone with Tazuna—who would have guessed?

"We're leaving in fifteen minutes," Tazuna told me. "I want to be there before the heat gets too bad."

"Got it." I pushed back from the table. "I need to go get changed and finish packing, then. I'll be back down in a few minutes."

My feet had carried me halfway to the entrance of the kitchen when Tsunami called, "Kasumi-chan."

"What?" I asked, turning to look at her.

Her lips had pulled down into a slight frown and the lines around her eyes had tightened, her gaze shifting between my dishes and my face.

"Was the soup not to your liking?" she asked. "You barely touched it last night, as well."

I blinked. "It—no, it was fine. I'm just not hungry."

She appeared unconvinced. "Is that all?"

No. "Yeah, honest."

"If that's the case, I'll pack it for you," Tsunami said. She abandoned her own breakfast and gathered up what I had left of the meal. "You can bring it with you for later."

"It's fine, I can eat when I get back."

She turned her attention back to me and stared me down with hard eyes. "I insist," she said, a heat and vehemence in her voice that had me biting back any further refusal. "It'll only take a moment. I'll have it ready for you when you come back down."

I nodded and continued on my way upstairs.

Packing the rest of my things into my bag was a short affair. I threw extra bandages—just in case—into the front pockets, extra water bottles and ration bars into the main pouch, my drawing pad into the middle nook, and emergency money into the inside zipper. There was some distance to walk so I did my best to pack light.

With that accomplished I slipped off my pajamas and redid the bandage that covered the top half of my arm, double checking the wound for any sign of infection. The mesh had taken the brunt of the damage, leaving the garment with a chunk of exposed ninja wire that had lost its fabric covering to show for it, but a wound was a wound and I figured it was better to be safe than sorry.

A t-shirt and a pair of shorts went overtop a layer of mesh, my kunai holster found its place on my thigh, and I was ready to go.

I opened the door to the room and took a step back, startled, when I found Sasuke waiting for me in the hallway. His face was set and his shoulders were squared and there was something clenched in his fist.

"What—"

"Take these," he said and shoved a couple of ration bars into my hands.

The packaging crinkled in my grip. They were the same as what I had stowed away in my bag, some of the higher grade bars made by the Akimichi.

I frowned. "I've got some already packed."

"Then eat these ones too."

"I don't need to, I've got enough—"

"You skipped dinner and breakfast," Sasuke said.

"I wasn't hungry."

His scowl, ever present on his face, intensified. "You not taking care of yourself is a danger to the mission."

The words sent a jolt through my system; my fingers locked in place where they were curled around the ration bars and my back stiffened.

"Look, it's fine—"

"It's not."

I could stand there and argue with him or I could accept defeat for the sake of my peace of mind.

"Thanks," I muttered and shoved the bars into my pack.

Sasuke gave a jerky nod, hands sliding into his pockets. He stared at me for a couple of seconds. Then, he nodded again and turned on his heels, slinking down the hall to his own room.

.

.

Walking through the village for the first time was an experience.

The streets were filthy, with so much garbage and rotten food littering the ground that the stench permeated every breath I took in, a layer of grime coating every inch of the pavement. Shops were closed and boarded up. There were people begging for food on every corner, the desperation of their situation painted clear across their gaunt faces.

"How long has it been like this?" I asked.

"The village?" he grunted in return.

"Yeah."

Tazuna heaved a sigh, a hand rising to rub at his chin. "Few years? Five, at most. It was gradual, at first, when he first started taking over the trade routes. He only took a small section at first. Nobody was happy about it, but nobody thought to stop him, not even when it began to inch outwards. Then out of nowhere he swept up the rest and got a full stranglehold on the whole industry… everything just went downhill from there."

"And now he's starving everybody out."

"Slowly but surely," he confirmed. "He keeps people who're useful to him alive, gives them extra food and other supplies. Anybody else just has to get along as best they can."

"I'm assuming you don't fall into that category."

"Not by a long shot."

As much as I hated Tazuna for the position he had put us in I had to admit that, to some extent, I felt a grudging respect towards him for having the guts to stand up against a tyrant when he just as easily could have kept his head down. There was still a part of me—a very, very large part of me—that wanted to punch him in the face for the position he had put our team in, but at least walking through that village, seeing the dire reality that the people of Wave were facing with my own eyes, I could understand what motivated him to do what he did.

Sometimes, you had to fuck somebody else over for the sake of the ones you loved.

.

.

I sat on the bridge, legs crossed and eyes shut, monitoring the area through my chakra sense.

There was no high ground available for me to keep watch from, no hidden niche I could set up camp at while I kept watch. It had my nerves sparking some, but I managed to reign them in without much issue.

I was somewhat confident that the day would go off without a hitch. With how little time had passed, Gato would have recently become aware that Zabuza and Haku had failed, if he even knew at all, leaving little chance for him to have scrounged up somebody to send in their stead. If he was going to send more shinobi to kill Tazuna he'd do it the next day or the day after and I intended to be around when that happened.

I needed to know who he sent—more specifically, how strong they were. Whoever he sent as a followup to Zabuza and Haku would be telling of what type of shinobi connections he had.

Gato was a corrupt business man, not a shinobi, and I doubted that he was capable of comprehending the differences in strength that were present among shinobi. Few people who lived this far off from the villages could. Case in point, he genuinely believed that a collection of civilian thugs and a couple of low-level shinobi would be capable of taking down Zabuza and Haku. It might have worked with Haku, as they could have overwhelmed him, but Zabuza? Not a chance. That was obvious to anybody with half of a brain and any experience with shinobi to draw on.

There was an unpredictability to Gato in that he could afford to throw jonin after jonin our way, but that he could end up sending mere genin out of ignorance.

The sound of my stomach growling snapped me back to reality, the cold gnawing in my belly hitting me in full force. I turned my gaze up to the sun, which was beginning to start its descent towards the horizon and marked the time as past noon, past when I should have eaten.

I reached for my bag, removed the tin, removed the spoon, and forced the liquid down mouthful by mouthful. When it didn't make a reappearance, the ration bars followed. It all tasted like ash. I didn't let myself spit any of it out, though. I choked down every last bit and hoped that my stomach wouldn't reject it.

I had to keep it together. I had to keep myself in top condition.

I was fine.

My eyes fell across the various men gathered, working to save their home. My mind conjured up images of Naruto, Sasuke, Kakashi.

There were more lives at risk than my own if I slipped up, misstepped, and cracked under the pressure.

I was fine.

.

.

The house was silent when Tazuna and I returned.

Naruto was training out front, Sasuke was buzzing around on the edge of my chakra sense, Tsunami was somewhere upstairs, and Inari had wandered off to who knew where in his quest to avoid any and all contact with the rest of us. Everything was as I had expected to find it, a small comfort.

I slid my shoes off, tossing them onto the mat, and padded into the kitchen. Tazuna did the same and headed straight for the stairs behind me, thudding towards the upper levels of the house. I rinsed out the dishes, discarded the ration bar wrappers, and made myself a cup of tea that I doubted I would drink, flitting around the room more on habit than anything else. Even so, the tea came with me, sloshing back and forth as I climbed the staircase.

My destination was the bedroom Kakashi and I were sharing, as it was my turn to check his bandages and replace them if necessary. I was standing at the door, my hand closed around the doorknob, when the sight of Tsunami pacing caught my eye, one hand splayed across her forehead and the other wrapped around her midsection. She was muttering to herself, whispered nothings that were too faint for my ears to catch even as I strained them.

I let my fingers slip off the brass, my hand fall to my side.

Tsunami didn't look up as I pushed the door open and took a step into the room. "Is something going on?" I asked.

Her head snapped up to look at me. "What, I—no dear, of course not." Her eyes flicked up to the clock that hung on the wall of the room and back to me. "It's nothing. I should really be starting on supper."

She gave me a tight smile and brushed past me on her way out, patting my shoulder as she did.

I let her go.

There were a million and one reasons that Tsunami had to be worried and anxious, all of which fell under the category of 'not my business'. I was there to complete my mission, not pry into their personal lives.

I closed the door shut behind me, crossed the hallway, and got down to the actual reason I had headed up stairs in the first place: nurse duty.

The rebandaging and disinfecting of the remnants of Kakashi's wounds took all of half an hour to complete. Once finished, I secured the last of Kakashi's bandages with a small sigh, rocking back on my heels to judge my work—it was sloppy but functional, which was enough for me. Besides, Sasuke would be fixing them in the morning, so my haphazard job didn't need to last for that long.

He was healing well, with no sign of infection and the mending process of the wounds moving along nicely, something that I had chalked up more to the fantastic healing properties of chakra rather than my or Sasuke's bandaging capabilities. The big gash, the one I suspected Kakashi sustained trying to block a blow meant for Naruto, would leave a jagged scar along the skin of his forearm, but the rest would heal and fade without anything to show for it.

Even without the full extent of my chakra sense, I could feel the shift in his chakra, conglomerating around the wounds that littered his skin as it circulated through his body. Shinobi healed at an accelerated rate even without the aid of medical ninjutsu. It wasn't absurd, mind, but it was noticeable, which was the only reason shinobi lived through half the shit that they did.

I walked over to my bed and collapsed on top of it, ignoring the heaviness of my eyelids and the stiffness of my limbs.

Whether or not the chakra-boosted healing would be adequate nagged at my thoughts.

Gato could have been sending enemies our way the next day. I would be able to evacuate the men on the bridge, I was certain of that, but having a jonin around would go a long ways to easing my frayed nerves. Yet, with how low Kakashi's chakra reserves were even after a day of rest, I was questioning my previous claim that he would be awake at some point the next day, not to mention what state he would be in if he did. He wouldn't be in any condition to engage in a serious fight without another few days of bedrest to allow for his chakra reserves to reach a respectable size and his skin to finish stitching itself back together.

He would get there eventually, but until then, we were on our own.

We had to figure things out for ourselves.

A hand rose to finger the messy, unkempt braid that my hair had been pulled back into since the previous morning, strands of auburn flying loose and swishing around my shoulders—I couldn't be bothered to weave them back into place.

"Hey! Hey, Kaka! Come on, dinner's ready!" Naruto called, the words muffled and garbled by the door.

I gave one last look at our sensei before I hauled myself upright and padded out of the room.

.

.

I took a bite of the soup, the taste identical to that of what we had eaten this morning and the night before, sweet, a vague hint of some meat tinting the broth, and stared out the minuscule square window imprinted into the wall above the sink.

The only upside I had found in the Land of Waves so far were the gorgeous sunsets.

Luminous pinks and purples and oranges spilling out over the azure expanse, greeting the sun as it dropped below the horizon and ushered in the night. There were sunsets like that in Konoha, of course, but there was something about being away from home that made the sight of it all the sweeter, a sort of foreign mystique that I couldn't quite shake as I feasted my eyes upon it.

The day had come and gone without incident.

Sasuke detected no suspicious persons in and around the forest, Naruto didn't see anybody come within eyeshot of the property, I hadn't come across anybody while guarding the bridge. I doubted that would last through the next day, so I took the chance to let my shoulders droop and my mind unwind itself from the mental knots it was running itself into. I let myself take a minute to breathe.

"Inari should have been back by now."

The spoon fell from my fingers and my heart skipped a beat; ice coursed through my veins. If there had been any soup left in my mouth I had no doubt I would have choked on it.

What?

Tsunami was wringing her hands, eyes flicking from the empty chair beside her to the front door of the home, a palpable wave of anxiety rolling off of her. The air around the dinner table grew stifling, her words sending both the boys and myself into high alert.

No.

It didn't take a genius to discern the implication of her words—which, given the fact that I hadn't bothered to account for the safety of Inari and Tsunami, hadn't even considered that they might become targets in my own machinations, I felt I was the exact opposite. Leaving Naruto and Sasuke behind to guard the home had been a formality in my mind, a 'what if' scenario that I hadn't given a passing thought.

No.

It couldn't be.

"When did he leave?" I asked her.

"I—I'm not sure," she murmured in a trembling voice. "I left to go get groceries during the early afternoon, and by the time I returned, he had already left for the day."

I turned my attention to the boys.

"I was scouting in the forest most of the day," Sasuke said.

Naruto squirmed in his seat. "I dunno… it was, uh… maybe around noon?"

"So roughly six hours ago," I said. "A lot of distance can be covered in six hours."

"He's not allowed to go far and he has to be back in time for dinner. He knows that."

"Either way, he's nowhere in a six kilometre radius," I said.

There was no trace of Inari on my chakra sense. If he was on his way back to the house I would have been able to sense him. Either he had started walking in the opposite direction of the house and never stopped, or there was something preventing him from coming home.

I hoped for the prior but expected the latter was the reality of the situation.

The thought had me shoving away a rush of nausea.

"He's probably fine, right Kaka?"

I clenched my fists so hard that my nails engraved eight well-formed crescent shapes into the skin of my palms. "I'm going to go and scout around," I said. "Can you send out some clones, Naruto? We'll cover more ground that way."

"Uh, yeah—yeah, of course."

"I'm coming," Sasuke said.

I waved a hand at him, a vague, nonverbal way of expressing my assent. I couldn't be bothered to stop him.

We departed in silence without delay.

The first place we investigated was the path that led towards the village. It was a desolate, winding road, made up of dirt and lined by forest on one side and the ocean shore on the other, the perfect place to snatch up a child without witness. I had no training in tracking, nor did Sasuke. The Academy didn't cover it. Instead, we were forced to rely on my charka sense and the child-sized footsteps imprinted into the dirt every so often, what of them hadn't been swept away and buried in dust by the breeze that rolled off of the ocean.

We didn't have to go far, though. The sense of dread, which had begun to build the second we'd left the house, swelled when I spotted a blue and white striped hat that lay discarded in the middle of the road, crumpled and stained.

I jerked to a stop, my eyes glued ahead of me.

No.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Seeing it there, with no hint of Inari's chakra signature in the general vicinity, was a punch in the gut that I had attempted to, and failed at, steeling myself for. The minuscule ray of hope that I had held wilted in the face of reality.

It had been left behind as a message, waiting there for us whether we found it that evening or stumbled upon it on the way into the village the next morning.

The placement of the hat was deliberate and unnatural, as if it had been set down rather than knocked off. More than that, Inari would have picked his hat back up. He had been wearing it the one time that I had seen him. He wore it in all of the pictures that were littered around Tazuna's home. He wouldn't have left it behind.

"That's his hat," Sasuke said.

"Yeah," I said. "That's his hat."

I closed the distance between myself and the hat.

There were no obvious traps. No explosive notes, no chakra that I could sense. I stooped down and lifted up the hat, revealing a note that had been left beneath it. I forced my hand to steady when I reached out and plucked the note up off the ground, holding it between my thumb and my forefinger, my breath catching in my throat as I read what was on it.

"What does it say?" Sasuke asked, an edge in his words.

My voice shook as I read out, "It's either the bridge or the boy, your choice."


	18. Land of Waves: Part 4

Naruto sat on the front porch, hands resting on his kneecaps and his leg shaking to an erratic beat. The hesitant optimism painted across his features crumpled into oblivion when he saw Sasuke and I approach with the hat in hand. In an effort to preserve what scant bits of the assailant's scent might have still lingered on the slip of paper I stashed the note in the crown of the hat; the words imprinted on the note rolled through my mind on loop, a sick concert dedicated to broadcasting the consequences of my actions in the one place that I couldn't escape it.

"You… you didn't find him," Naruto murmured.

I shook my head. When I was close enough, I linked my fingers through his own—I needed to take hold of something real, something warm, it wasn't exactly who I wanted but that was okay because somebody was better than nobody and Naruto was far from nobody—and led him inside, Sasuke following at our heels.

Tazuna and Tsunami both sat at the table waiting for us.

Tazuna and Tsunami both started crying when they saw us.

I sat down across from Tsunami, Naruto settling down on one of my side and Sasuke on the other. The hat remained in my grip even as I could see Tsunami yearn to take hold of it. I didn't blame her. She wanted to touch that soiled hat, feel the fabric along the pads of her fingers, for the exact same reason my own hand refused to detach from Naruto's.

When you were on the point of breaking, having an anchor to keep you rooted in this world was the difference between remaining whole and shattering.

Tsunami broke; I did not break.

My throat itched to scream at the sky in frustration, my eyes burned to shed tears, because a boy was being held hostage by a mob boss and it was my fault, if I had just let things run their course he'd be okay, he could end up dead because I was selfish, but I pulled in the pieces of my composure and held them together for dear life. I forced out a breath instead of a scream and forced my eyes to remain dry.

I was fine.

My fingers unwound from around Naruto's and both hands moved to pinch the brim of the hat shut.

I was fine.

"He's being held hostage," I said. "The note says: it's either the boy or the bridge, your choice."

Tazuna's hand slammed down against the table. "What?"

"Oh, Kami…" Tsunami choked out, fingers clamped over my mouth. "No…"

"You—you can get him back, right?" Tazuna asked.

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

I rested my elbows on the table and twined together my fingers, laying my forehead against my joined hands. "It's not so simple," I mumbled. My head ached. "The choice isn't up to us 'cause our sensei is our commanding officer."

"He didn't leave any of us in charge," Sasuke noted. "None of us have the authority to alter the set mission objective."

"What, we—really?" Naruto asked. "Come on we… we gotta be able to do something!"

"The approach we take to this situation will be up to Kakashi-sensei," I said.

"Inari isn't a 'mission objective'," Tazuna spat. "He's a child—"

His words stopped cold when I tilted my head up to meet his gaze with blank eyes. "So he is," I responded. "But as shinobi, out on a mission, we're bound by mission objectives."

"That's it, then?" Tazuna asked. "You all have to wait around for your sensei to wake up while he's—he's Kami knows where?"

"He would have to either way," I said. "The three of us aren't enough to get him back. We don't know what kind of forces he has with him, we don't know how he might react, and we don't even know where he is, or if he's even keeping Inari that close to him. Not to mention having to plan an infiltration."

I raised my hand to rub at my temples and wished they would stop shaking.

"There's nothing we can do?" Naruto asked.

"We need Kakashi-sensei," I murmured. "This… this is too big for us."

We needed Kakashi to track down Inari. We needed Kakashi to plan out the best approach for getting into wherever we needed to get Inari. We needed Kakashi to plan out the best path to get Inari. We needed Kakashi to lead the charge through the building like the human bulldozer that jonin are. We needed Kakashi to be there in case things went wrong.

We needed our sensei.

There was no way for us to go into that situation and not be put our lives at a severe risk, something which I refused to do no matter how much guilt I felt over the matter. I had my role in things, but I wasn't the lone bearer of blame—Kakashi and Tazuna each had their own stake. I would feel awful, terrible, disgusted with myself if Inari died over this, but I wouldn't let that potential outcome spur me into doing something stupid and impulsive that would put all of our lives in danger.

"You could give up the bridge," Sasuke said.

"We… this country can't afford that. There has to be another way."

"What if there isn't?" I asked. "What if there's no way for us to attempt a retrieval?"

Tazuna looked at his hands and didn't say a word.

"You'd leave him there?" Tsunami cried.

"I didn't say that—"

"You didn't not say it."

When he refused to meet her gaze or respond, Tsunami shoved her chair back with enough force to send it flying into the wall and fled the table. Tazuna followed after her.

The exchange went about as well as I had assumed it would. I blew out a haggard breath.

I needed to do something. Sitting around would drive me to insanity and, tired as I was, going to sleep wasn't appealing to me. I had steam to let off, nerves to smooth, emotions to vent.

I stood up and left without a word, the door of the house slamming shut behind me as I stepped out into the muggy summer air, the temperature not dulled by the absence of the sun. Konoha had a dry heat, but in the Land of Waves, with how close they were to the water, the air was humid and uncomfortable, the feeling of it washing over me not unlike a snake slipping down my back.

The spot I chose wasn't far into the forest, half a kilometre away from the house at most. It was enough distance that I felt like I could breathe, but not so far that I wouldn't be able to get back to the house in a reasonable time should the need arise.

I picked a nice tree, one with a sturdy, expansive trunk, and started hitting it.

I treated it like a training dummy, aiming blow after blow at the bark, watched it chip off and flake onto the ground at my feet. I punched, I kicked, I kneed. The longer I went on the more vicious and harsh my strikes became, the more the skin on my knuckles was cut and the more that the ninja mesh along my legs, the only barrier between my calves and the tree, tore away into wire.

It hurt. It hurt a lot.

The method was crude but, in that moment at least, successful. The world around me sharpened into a painful clarity and anything except the immediate faded from my thoughts, lost in a haze of unimportance. There was nothing for me to be concerned about, nothing that I had to be responsible for. I was able to exist in a bubble of blissful ignorance and it felt fantastic; I hated every second of it.

I froze when I heard two sets of footsteps sound behind me, one hand remaining planted against the trunk of the tree. I knew the gaits, the chakra signatures.

"Hey, hey! Kaka!" Naruto called as he approached, Sasuke trailing a few metres behind him with a frown on his face. "What're you doing… hey, your hand's bleeding!"

I took a step back from the tree and raised one of my hands up to inspect it, blood oozing out of the torn skin of my knuckles. It stung—both of my hands did, my legs as well. The muscles in my body were stiff and sore, my limbs ached from sleep deprivation and the sudden burst of activity.

"It's fine," I said. "It doesn't really hurt."

Sasuke narrowed his eyes at the blood and his frown darkened into a glower. I ignored him.

"Eh, really?" Naruto asked.

I gave a noncommittal shrug. "What're you two doing out here?"

"I just… uh… just wanted to come see what you were doing—so did he."

"I'm just training."

"Oh."

I looked to my hands again, and my gaze travelled down to my legs, the minor abrasions that had scratched at my skin through the mesh. They needed to be cleaned out and bandaged.

"I'm done, I think," I said. "Come on, let's go. We should probably get back."

.

.

The first thing I registered upon waking up was that I wasn't the only conscious person in the room.

I rubbed at my eyes as I sat up in bed, felt the bags that framed them brush against the skin of my hands—four hours of turbulent sleep wasn't enough to dispel them. That was fine. I felt fine.

Kakashi was propped up against the wall behind his bed, his little orange book opened in front of him and a pillow on his lap to cushion it. His shoulders were relaxed, his eyes half-lidded, but the charge in his chakra signature—it reminded me of lightning bouncing around a glass jar—betrayed him.

He looked okay, save for the bandages poking out from beneath his clothes. His skin had regained some of its colour, his hands were steady, and he showed no visible signs of pain, for what little credence the last one had with shinobi. I knew from having looked over his injuries the night prior, though, that he required proper medical attention, not the inadequate bandage and cleaning jobs that Sasuke and I had provided him with so far. He wasn't in dire condition, but he could be doing far better.

"You're already reading porn," I mumbled, running my fingers over my hair to flatten out some of the wisps that had flown away. "Nice."

He turned his face to look at me, eyebrow raised up. "What else would I be doing?"

"Not reading porn."

"Mhm." Kakashi shifted his attention back to the book and flipped the page. "Is there any reason why the woman in the room across from us has spent the last two hours crying?"

"Probably has something to do with the fact that her son is currently in the possession of a crime boss who's made a threat against his life."

His hand stilled.

I rolled out of bed and avoided wincing at the stiffness in my joints, the sudden jolt that ran through my legs when my feet hit the ground. I walked over to my pack and pulled out a fresher set of clothes that I could change into.

"It sounds like there are things we need to talk about," Kakashi said.

"To put it lightly." I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. "You missed a lot while you were out."

If the subtle jab elicited a hint of a wince from Kakashi, a twitch of his face, the stiffening of his shoulders, I chose to ignore it. I felt entitled to at least one bitter comment.

"So it seems," he answered, his voice revealing nothing. He flicked the page again, not that I believed he was reading the book in front of him anymore. "Why don't you bring Naruto and Sasuke in here? We need to have a team discussion."

"Alright."

I wandered out of the room, clothes in hand, and told myself that everything was fine.

.

.

Kakashi watched her walk out of the room and felt like a failure, more so than he had in recent memory.

He was the one who had made the wrong call with continuing the mission instead of leaving when things went awry. He was the one who got arrogant, careless, thinking that there was nobody that their enemy could throw at him and come out victorious. She was the one who suffered for it.

He didn't need his genius to figure out that something was wrong with his student.

Everything about Kasumi was blank. Her eyes were dead, her voice lacked inflexion, and her face was expressionless. There were bags that encompassed much of her eye sockets. Her shoulders hunched and her movements were sluggish. When she spoke to him Kakashi caught the hint of gauntness in her features and the fact that, even in just a few days, she had lost some weight, which was proof enough that the poor eating habits she had displayed during the trip to Wave had worsened rather than improved upon reaching their destination. The bandages along both of her hands and the bottoms of her legs didn't escape his notice, either—whatever training she had been doing was harsh and careless, resulting in injuries that he knew her to avoid most days.

The attempts he made to reconcile the person who walked out of the room with the student he recalled were unsuccessful. She had been a handful, nothing that he expected her to be, but she had been full of personality and attitude and life, things that she lacked then. The person who he saw had a closer resemblance to a corpse. He had figured that out of the three of his students, she would be the one to deal with stress the best, but that theory wasn't holding up in the slightest.

The sounds she made while she slept served to twist the knife, so to speak, as he listened to her whimper and murmur in the subdued way that those with copious experiences with nightmares often did. He couldn't guess at what exactly she was seeing, but he assumed it had taken place after he passed out from chakra exhaustion.

Kakashi may have known that he would fail his students, one way or another, but he hadn't known that it would bother him. His arrogance and inability to protect his own students had caused one of them to be reduced to a husk—the thought that the other two had suffered likewise stung a part of him that Kakashi didn't know could still feel pain. He thought he had buried it and left it to rot.

Self-loathing Kakashi could deal with. The rekindling of whatever the hell else he was feeling? No, that he could do without.

He didn't want to bond with these children, didn't want to be in a position where he could care for them, didn't want to face that danger—that was all it was to him. It was dangerous. More than not wanting it, Kakashi didn't need it. He was beyond needing a team, he had been for more years than he cared to count. That was in his past. His ANBU squads were one thing as they could all care for themselves, and Kakashi could forget their loss as easily as he could forget the masks they wore. Three children, with faces and identities and names, were a whole other matter.

Not a soul in the village would forget the lives of these children if they were lost, Kakashi included.

He leaned his head back against the headboard and heaved a sigh. "This better be worth it, sensei."

.

.

I combed my fingers through my dampened hair to clear it of its snags and knots.

Putting on a cleaner set of clothes reminded me that I hadn't had an actual shower in over a week, prior to our leaving the village. Minor washings in stray bodies of water when we came across them during the trip from the village was as close as I had gotten, which didn't involve shampoo or soap or an extended amount of time spent rinsing the grit and grime from my skin.

I didn't linger in the shower. I rushed through the basics in the five minutes I had allotted myself, scrubbing every inch of my body with fervour, and jumped out again. There was a fleeting part of me that wanted to stand under the hot water for hours and hours and hours, but my more reasonable desires won out, the ones that were intent on getting back to the actually important matters—figuring out what the hell was going to happen next.

Sasuke was awake when I entered their room, but Naruto was out cold. There was no kind way to wake Naruto up. I gave a partial, distracted nod to him and made my way to Naruto's bedside, staring down at him as he slept.

"Naruto," I said, so I could say that I did try. No response. "Naruto."

I led a bit of chakra to my fingertips, a minuscule amount, the barest spark, and poked him in the ribs with it.

He jolted at the contact and gave a garbled cry of shock, floundering in his covers. "Ah! What—what's happening?"

"Kakashi-sensei is awake," I said. I stepped back and threw a look at Sasuke. "He wants to talk to all of us. Don't bother getting dressed, just come on."

"He's up?" Naruto slurred.

He rolled out of his bed and fell to the floor in a heap, the lump that he was under his blankets not moving from its spot on the ground.

"He's isn't out of bed, but he's conscious," I said.

Sasuke's back stiffened. "How bad is he?"

"Hard to say," I answered. I angled my body to bring him into my line of sight. "His chakra seems fine, decently full. He might need crutches, but he should be able to move around today. He just can't do any major fighting yet."

Naruto, not yet awake enough to absorb the meaning of those words, gave no outward reaction except to scratch his head and blink at the two of us. Sasuke's face tightened.

There would be issues if Gato had any high-level shinobi guarding Inari. Some civilians and genin wouldn't be a problem, as even an injured Kakashi could handle those in his sleep, not to mention what the three of us were capable of, but it could get dicey if there was anybody there of chunin or jonin level.

Kakashi set his book down in his lap as we trooped into the room. He had the same bored expression on his face, sleepy almost, like the situation we were in was no cause for concern—it was both annoying and reassuring.

I sat on my bed, Naruto plopping down beside me and leaning into my arm, and Sasuke leaned against the foot of the bed.

"All here," Kakashi said, his steel grey eye skimming over all of us. "Let's talk. Go from the start."

"The start of what?" Naruto asked.

"After the fight," Kakashi said. "Give me a full report of what's happened since then."

I flicked my eyes to the window. "One of us is going to need to leave soon to guard Tazuna while he's at the bridge."

Sasuke unwound his arms from around his chest and straightened up. "I'll go."

"What if Gato tries something?" I asked. "There should be two people there."

"Naruto-kun," Kakashi said. "Send clones with Sasuke-kun. Give him enough to set up a perimeter around the bridge."

Naruto gave a sleepy nod, pressed his fingers together, and ten clones popped into existence and made the already crowded room feel that much smaller. Sasuke looked at all of them with distaste.

"You should send them ahead," I said. "Sasuke-kun and Tazuna-san won't be leaving for the bridge for another few minutes, but the clones can go before them and make there aren't any traps or anything."

"Good idea," Kakashi said. "If there's anything wrong I want you to alert us immediately."

"Yeah, got it."

The clones opened the window and squeezed themselves out one by one, while Sasuke went downstairs to where I could feel Tazuna sitting at the kitchen table.

Kakashi stared at us, expectant.

I did most of the talking. Naruto piped in with bits here and there, but he spent more time staring down at his hands and twiddling his thumbs. As much as I could, I kept the narrative short and sweet, cutting what details I could and boiling the entire situation down into a fifteen-minute explanation.

Kakashi took all of it in when an even expression, but I felt the minor shifts in his chakra signature, spiking and waning as the story went on.

When I was finished speaking I reached under the bed and pulled out Inari's hat. "This is all they left behind," I murmured. "The actual note is in the crown of it."

A hint of chakra gathered in Kakashi's nose as he held the paper underneath his nostrils and inhaled. Once, twice. A minute nod. His gaze moved to the window and he leaned forward, his chin propped in his hand. He sat there in silence.

"So?" Naruto asked. "Can you find him?"

Kakashi waved a hand. "Of course I can."

"Then why didn't you say so?"

"Hmm." He rubbed the back of his head, turned to look at us again. "We'll be discussing the plans for the rescue later on tonight, once Sasuke returns. I want both of you to be packed and ready to leave at a moment's notice—there's no telling when we'll have to depart."

"Alright," I said.

Kakashi picked his book up again and went back to reading, a clear cue that the conversation was over. Naruto bristled at the blunt dismissal but I grabbed his hand and pulled him away before anything could come out of it, dragging him off towards the back porch.

We sat there, out in the sun, shoulder to shoulder with our feet dipped in the water, for the rest of the morning.

.

.

We were informed later in the morning that there had been another note waiting on the bridge when Tazuna and Sasuke arrived. It granted Tazuna until construction ended on the bridge to make his choice if he wanted to get Inari back alive. For every day that Inari remained in Gato's possession, however, Gato would take off one of his fingers, starting that evening at midnight.

Kakashi decided that we had no choice but to attempt the rescue within the day.

I bit back my protests and nodded along. I had my marching orders, and like the good little soldier that I was, I'd follow them.

.

.

"You'll be doing it tonight, then," Tazuna said. "Going to get him."

"Yes," Kakashi answered.

I twisted my spoon around the bowl and tried to ignore the rampant fear that tore through my mind at those words.

We had a plan. All of us knew what we were supposed to do, what role we were to play. I wanted to believe that we would succeed. I wanted to think that it was possible for us to get into the base, accomplish all of the objectives Kakashi had set out, and get back out alive.

I didn't.

Kakashi spent the entire day in bed regaining his energy. He could move around without crutches, though I caught him using chakra to augment his legs in order to do so. The wound on his arm would bleed again if jostled. He was functional. His fighting capabilities would be limited, but in a pinch, he would manage.

Naruto and Sasuke were both inexperienced and jittering with nerves.

I was emotionally and physically exhausted.

We needed to take a day or two to collect ourselves and prepare for whatever might await us at the base. None of us were in the proper condition to attempt this rescue, but the time constraint Gato placed on us had pushed Kakashi into action.

I tamped down on the urge to stomp my feet and throw a tantrum and tear out my hair and fall on the floor sobbing. The impulse was stupid and ridiculous, which was where all its appeal came from. I wanted to be a child and throw a hissy fit. There was so much of everything bouncing around inside my head, vouching for my attention and my energy, two things that were in short supply as it was.

A hand landed on my head.

I blinked, jostled from my thoughts. The table around me was empty—Tazuna gone, Tsunami gone, the boys gone, the dishes cleared away.

"You should eat," Kakashi said. He wasn't looking at me, even as his hand remained in place. "You'll need your energy tonight."

"If I eat, I'm going to puke."

"I'm ordering you to eat."

"You're ordering me to puke, then."

"I'm ordering you to eat and keep it down."

"That's not fair," I mumbled. "You can't order bodily functions around."

Kakashi hummed. "It's going to be fine, tonight."

His casual approach and words were supposed to calm me, give me a reason to relax in the face of danger. It had succeeded earlier, but right then it failed—it angered me. I had spent the entire fucking mission trying to convince myself that things were fine, that I was fine, that all of it was just fucking fine.

None of it was fine. There was nothing about the situation that was fine. I wasn't fine, Kakashi wasn't fine, Tsunami wasn't fine, Tazuna wasn't fine. Inari sure as hell wasn't fine. The boys were coping, but Sasuke wasn't sleeping either and when Naruto thought nobody was looking, any hint of a smile was wiped from his features and replaced with a harried look that I had never thought he was capable of.

I didn't want to be told it was fine anymore. It wasn't.

"Don't make promises like that. Don't… don't do that to me."

His chakra jolted; his face remained placid, a lone silver brow rising up. "You don't have confidence that I can keep it?"

"No."

The hand was removed from my hair and Kakashi took a step back, stared at me for a small eternity.

"Alright."

Not knowing what else to do, I nodded.

My eyes affixed themselves to the cold soup in front of me and I wondered whether I would grow to regret the choices I made. A few hours were all that stood between me and a definitive answer.

The legs of my chair scraped against the floor. I stood, picked up my bowl, and walked into the kitchen, pouring the remnants of my supper into the sink.

"I'm going to double check my pack," I said. "Come get me when it's time to leave."

Kakashi said nothing, watching me with those stupid, emotionless eyes.

I left.


	19. Land of Waves: Part 5

I crept forward, crouching down in the bushes, and raised a hand to move stray branches from my path.

The silhouette of a sprawling building greeted my gaze, the mansion made visible by the light streaming out of its windows. That was our destination. That was Gato's base.

Both of the boys remained in a thicker part of the forest. From my peripheral, I caught sight of Naruto fidgeting and Sasuke directing a sullen glare at the ground in front of him, his hands shoved in his pockets. Their lips moved, annoyed eyes met and parted—they were bickering. Kakashi followed at my shoulder rather than stay behind—for a man who shouldn't even be standing, his movements were silent and carried out with a surprising amount of grace. I envied his ability to mask his condition.

I altered my path a smidgen to avoid the sight of a civilian guard that was skulking around the perimeter of the base. His head appeared to be shifting out towards the forest every so often, remaining turned to stare out into the trees for a split second and then facing forward again, as if he wasn't expecting to see anything each time he looked.

_Idiot._

"Inattentive guards," I mumbled, my voice pitched for Kakashi's ears alone. "Either Gato's trying to lull us into a false sense of security, he isn't expecting us to strike tonight, or he was too stupid to alert his security teams of a potential threat."

Kakashi made a vague noise of assent but offered no other reply.

I gritted my teeth and kept to my job.

When we were close enough, I dropped down to one knee, and the grasp I held on my chakra sense loosened. The tenebrous night was breached by an abundance of sparks, flickering with life; every chakra signature in the base, both above and below ground, fell within my grasp. The building had two visible floors, but the four layers of signatures displayed to me marked the base as having two underground levels as well.

A pair of signatures stationed in the middle of the top floor gave the loudest calls for my attention. Brighter than the rest, but not that bright. Genin. It sat in a strategically sound part of the building, as there were far fewer windows peppered along the walls of the uppermost level when compared to the rest of the building, giving intruders fewer chances to get inside. Upon closer inspection, the windows all seemed to be guarded, to boot.

The signatures weren't alone in that room. There were three other wispy collections of chakra in the near vicinity, one of which I was certain represented Gato. The other two could belong to other guards, business partners,  _prostitutes_ —it was impossible to be certain of anything except that they were civilian.

I closed my sense and took a deep breath, massaging my temples to ward off the headache forming in the space between my eyes.

Kakashi remained silent.

"I found two genin in the middle of the top floor," I said. "There's three other signatures in the room with them—one of them is Gato, I'm guessing."

"Inari?" Kakashi asked.

"Haven't found him," I replied.

His signature wasn't familiar enough that I could pick it out of a crowd, especially not when that crowd comprised of  _hundreds_ of civilian signatures packed inside a single building. People were making deals, partaking in various recreational activities—some more savoury than others, I assumed—and generally doing the types of things that were done inside a major crime hub. There was a lot happening and I had to sift through all of it to find Inari.

I started from the bottom, the lowest underground floor, and filtered out the signatures from the rest of the building as best I could. His chakra, the outline of the shape smaller and churning with a unique intensity, caught my attention as I scanned one of the hallways near the middle of the floor.

"He's on the bottom floor," I said. "Two signatures are on either side of him, and another two just in front of him—they aren't moving at all."

"Good."

Kakashi turned and slunk off, a waved hand over his shoulder serving as my signal to follow him.

Both of the boys looked up when we approached.

"Did ya find him?" Naruto asked, reigning in the volume of his voice at the last second when Sasuke elbowed him in the ribs.

"Quiet down, idiot."

My mouth pulled down in a frown.

"None of that now," Kakashi said. "We have a job to do. You're shinobi—act like it."

Kakashi gestured towards me. "Yeah, we found them," I said. "He and Gato are pretty much in opposite parts of the building."

Naruto's expression brightened a fraction and then drooped, the whole of the statement hitting him. Sasuke grunted, scuffed his foot against the ground.

"The plan isn't changing," Kakashi said. "Kasumi-chan, I want you to focus on Naruto-kun and Sasuke-kun—I'll handle myself."

I forced down the mixed emotions of annoyance and frustration, that infuriating hint of relief, and nodded. "Sure."

"Sasuke-kun, you're going to come with me. I'll pick our point of entrance and lead you to the downstairs entrance, then we'll split off from there," Kakashi said, directing his eye to Sasuke. He gave him a hard stare. "You're going to be relying on Kasumi-chan to direct you. If she tells you something, you aren't to argue with her."

Sasuke grunted in reply.

Kakashi's gaze didn't waver from him. "Sasuke-kun, am I understood?" he asked. His expression didn't change, nor did the volume of his voice or the laxness of his posture, but his tone had gained an undercurrent of steel.

"Yes."

"Good," Kakashi said. He huffed out a breath and raised a hand to rest it on his hip, tilted his head. "Naruto-kun, you're going to come with us as well. I want you to provide support for Sasuke-kun while the clones are out and creating chaos. In case Kasumi-chan struggles with keeping track of you two and the people around you, your job is to make sure Sasuke-kun gets to the target safe and sound. Is that clear?"

"Uh-huh, sensei."

An aura of tension drifted between the boys but neither of them would argue with direct orders, not with the stakes that were at play.

"Kasumi-chan, I want you stationed near the point of entrance," Kakashi said. "I want you to have it in your line of sight."

"Got it."

"Keep things clean," Kakashi continued. "Disable anybody you can and take the clones out as you go. They'll be helpful to cause chaos, but they'll get in our way as easily as the enemies if we aren't careful." He straightened and clapped his hands together. "All settled, then. Off we go kids."

It took two trips around the building for Kakashi to make his decision.

There was a large window straight past the tree line from where he stood, wide open, light streaming out and the smell of fresh cooked meat wafting through the air. I could sense a handful of people milling around the room and an area attached to it that was filled to the brim with signatures, but the windows along the nearest wall revealed an empty hallway. It appeared to stretch past the actual dining area, reaching further than the mass of signatures contained in front of it. It was a pathway for staff to ferry meals throughout the building—perfect for what I assumed Kakashi had in mind.

I picked the nearest tree and scaled it. The vantage point from the top branches was ideal, a place where I was hidden from sight by the foliage but still had a clear view of the building below. A bit of chakra on the soles of my feet, a bit of chakra in my hands, and I was secured to the tree; I shut my eyes and opened up my chakra sense.

"What's the situation like on the inside?" Kakashi asked, his voice crackling over the intercom.

"Four in the first room, maybe thirty in the room adjoined to it," I replied. "The hallway that wraps around is empty, though."

"Update us as we go."

"Understood."

There was an explosion of chakra to my left, an army of Naruto clones filling up the forest around me. Hundreds of them. Naruto created more clones than there were people in the base. That was ideal, as the job of the clones was to cause a ruckus, to overwhelm the people inside, to distract them and take out who they could, while the real Team 7 accomplished the objectives.

"Everybody clear?" Kakashi asked.

"Yes."

"Yep."

"Yeah."

"Alright," Kakashi said. "Go, Naruto-kun."

The sheer volume of the stampeding clones rivalled that of thunder cracking through the sky during a vicious storm. One by one they shoved their way through the window, flooded the kitchen, and worked their way out into the dining hall, the entire room becoming one giant buzz of nervous chakra.

Kakashi, Sasuke, and the real Naruto slipped in after the last clone—as I suspected, they took the hallway tucked into the edge of the building.

The entire situation was a giant headache for me, a case of sensory overload like I had never experienced, with hundreds of signatures around the building that called for my attention and pricked at my awareness. I struggled to keep from being overwhelmed by the spectacle; staring at it was like staring directly at the sun. It was close, it was bright, and my chakra sense kept attempting to force itself shut in response.

Kakashi made a point of pulsing his chakra every few steps to hold my focus on their group, and he had instructed Sasuke to do the same. The less enemies active and moving around, the less clones that were present, the further they went, the easier things became.

_Breathe._

"Group of three coming up on your nine."

Kakashi's signature broke ahead of the boys and headed straight for the civilians who were clumped up together. I expected the signatures to disappear. Instead, they dropped in quick succession, dulled but not snuffed out.

"Any others in the immediate vicinity?" Kakashi asked.

_Focus._

"There's two to your north-east, but they're occupied with the clones," I said. "Three more past them—they're heading towards the other two, I think. Then there's a couple coming up on your twelve, but there's also a group of clones between you and them so that should keep them occupied while you slip ahead."

"We need to take the path to our twelve," Kakashi said. Their signatures went on the move again. "Target updates?"

_Don't get distracted._

My grip tightened on the bark, bits of it digging into the skin of my palm.

"The signatures of the shinobi on the top floor are a bit agitated. They moved a bit, too, probably guarding the door. There's just one other civilian signature with them," I said. I shifted my focus, forced out a breath. "There' only two signatures around Inari now. The other two went to investigate the commotion, I think. Oh—there's a civilian signature coming up on your three, ETA ten seconds."

Kakashi moved to meet them head-on. They offered him no resistance.

Forward, forward, forward. Winding, bobbing, weaving. Two distinct blobs moving through the madness, a third trailing behind that blended into the mass so well that I stopped attempting to keep track of it.

A minute had ticked by when I felt their signatures stop.

"Here," Kakashi said. A pause, a ruffling of clothes; those words weren't meant for me. "We're separating."

"Understood."

Kakashi's chakra went from pulsing to tucked in, a conscious reigning in of his chakra that was a habit I assumed had been ingrained in him through years of experience. In contrast, Sasuke's chakra grew more distinct, a lone grey cloud intermingled with a bright summer sky.

The boys started their descent towards Inari and though the majority of my attention remained with them, a part of it took note of the utter lack of activity that followed in Kakashi's wake. That was how I tracked Kakashi. Not by his own signature, but by the absence of signatures, the blank spaces of energy, that formed in the top level of the building. He left nothing behind, the signatures of the clones dispersing first and the human signatures second as he carved a path upwards.

Naruto and Sasuke were done with their floor in a handful of seconds. The way down was close, within the first few hallways they searched, and at that point it became my job to guide them towards their goal.

At the same time, Kakashi was nearing the top of the base. The genin signatures refused to abandon their charge. They would rethink that decision once they grasped the full extent of the threat heading their way—that is, if they were alive long enough to do so.

"Take the nearest left."

Their signatures moved a bit further down, made a sharp turn in that direction.

"As soon as you can, turn right."

A breath, two, and a ninety-degree shift in their movements.

"Go straight for as long as you can."

Forward, forward, forward, forward—a lack of motion.

"There's a left and right turn," Sasuke grunted, his voice somewhat laboured. "Which one?"

I wanted to say neither. Inari was further forward, further into the base, but if they took a left turn then they'd be moving  _away_ from him. "Go right."

Compared to the upper levels, the population on the bottom floor was sparse, with few clones and fewer civilians. Half of the people there were guarding Inari, and the other half were scattered amongst what I assumed was a labyrinth of hallways and rooms.

The light of chakra on the top floor burnt out—the entire visible part of the base was dark, save for the dim streak of metallic that was Kakashi.

Gato was dead. He was dead, gone, no longer a threat to us, to the village, and the entirety of Wave country.

A breath gushed out from me and the load on my shoulders lightened.

I waited for Kakashi to announce his completion. He remained silent and instead his signature stopped, slumped down, fell against something—a wall, presumably. His chakra was low. Moving around required little chakra, but having to keep his legs augmented for such a long period had worn his already low reserves down.

There were people heading in Kakashi's direction, guards from the ground floor who were making their way up to defend their boss.

"Kasumi."

Naruto and Sasuke had stopped moving.

"Sorry," I said, mentally shaking myself.  _Stupid_. I forced my attention back to the boys, forced my mind to roll over the words that I had tuned out. "Right now he's twenty degrees northeast of your location. The path is making you overshoot. Just take the first path on your twelve that you can, but don't retrace your footsteps. I don't think you missed the right way."

"Tch."

The base was beginning to drain of signatures, those who chose to flee sprinting out from the doors and taking refuge in the forest. I didn't blame them as, regardless of his current lack of activity, I assumed Kakashi had plans for anybody that remained once he went on the prowl again.

I counted one, two, five, eight, thirteen signatures—I lost track and my attention snapped back to the boys.

"Signature on your left," I said.

I expected Sasuke to be the one to jump ahead and take the fight; Naruto's signature was the one to make the first hit. Sasuke's followed, a hair behind Naruto, and the opponent went down in the blink of an eye.

"Heh," Naruto huffed, the sound harshened and distorted by the comms. "How was that?"

"Whatever."

"Keep moving," I said. "You're getting close."

Inari was close, terribly close, enough so that I began to entertain the thought that my pessimistic outlook from earlier in the evening had been unfounded. I could  _taste_ our success.

They made it to the end of their hallway, took out the two guards who awaited them.

They hooked around the corner and sprinted forward.

They met up with the remaining two signatures that stood between them and Inari.

My breath rattled in my lungs, baited. My fingers curled around the branch beneath me in a grip that had the bark cracking under the pressure.

It wasn't either of the two boy's voices that alerted me of our success.

"You… you're here?"

That laugh that burst from me was near hysterical. My hands released the tree and weaved together over my mouth, a tear falling from my eye that I hadn't felt gather.

I had never heard that voice before—Inari hadn't so much as spared us a word after our arrival—but the boyish squeak and exhausted brittle that enraptured the spoken words was unmistakable.

"Yeah, Inari-kun," Naruto answered. His voice was hoarse, scratchy, as if he were crying too. "We're here."

A strangled sob, distant and muffled, whispered from the speakers, and Inari's signature moved forward to collide with Naruto's.

"We've got him, Kakashi-sensei," Sasuke said, his voice smug. "He's fine. What now?"

"Good job. Make your way out and head back to Kasumi-chan," Kakashi answered. "I'm nearly done."

Any hints of the hardened soldier that had slipped out earlier, doling orders with precision and an expectation of absolute obedience, were gone.

"Need help?" Naruto asked.

"Mah," Kakashi answered. "I'm a tired old man, but I can take care of myself."

His chakra was lower than I liked, but he wasn't using much of it to keep himself functioning and fighting—he'd be fine to finish up, though whether he'd be able to make it back afterwards was up in the air. Even then, should he not be able to make it back, Naruto could conjure up more clones and carry him on the trip home.

While neither of the boys seemed to have clued into it, I had a niggling idea of what Kakashi planned to do and why he wanted the boys out of the building when he did it.

Konoha shinobi didn't leave messes and loose threads behind, and Kakashi was no exception.

"We're on our way," Sasuke said. His signature shifted. "Idi—" A short exhale. "Naruto. Grab the kid."

"Yeah, yeah."

Both groups moved towards each other.

Naruto and Sasuke wove their way through the floors. Sasuke took the lead and removed any imminent threats, and Naruto brought up the rear with Inari in tow. There were some who had been missed on the way down that headed towards the action. I wondered how many of them would laugh in the face of two children only for a foot to be planted in their mouths to silence the sound seconds later.

Kakashi was going downwards, but he wasn't in any rush to get to his destination. He had taken out the odd straggler when they got close earlier—he hadn't  _touched_ any of them, nor had his chakra fluxed, so I assumed he was taking them out with thrown weapons—and he kept that going. His progress was slow and little chakra circulated through his body. He restrained himself, saved his energy.

Naruto and Sasuke burst from out of the front door of the building rather than going out through the kitchen window. Inari continued to cry, his sobs loud enough that I could hear him from my position. The wails shattered the stillness in the air, sent it careening to the ground where it splintered into an irrevocable disaster. He was lucky that stealth was no longer a requirement.

I turned my comm to the private channel, linked to Kakashi and Kakashi alone. "They're out of the building."

"Thanks," came the dry reply.

Regardless of whether or not he had asked for the assistance, Kakashi acted on it, picked up his pace and started to move through the floors with gusto. His signature flashed with a hint of life and he began to circulate the chakra to his lower body again.

By the time Naruto and Sasuke worked their way over to where I was, Kakashi had torn through what enemies were left on the top and ground levels, leaving not a soul behind.

I forced my chakra sense shut.

That pungent copper, which I was certain besmirched the air inside the base, filled my nostrils. Either the blood on the floors had grown copious enough to leak out of the windows or my mind was playing tricks on me. When the boys gave no reaction, made no comment on the smell, I knew it was the latter.

I dropped from my perch to meet them halfway.

Part of me felt numb with disbelief at the sight of Naruto, Sasuke, and Inari all walking towards me unharmed. We had succeeded. I hadn't thought it was possible, wrapped up in my melancholy, fed up with the fact that everything had progressed into a worse and worse situation.

I was glad that I had been wrong. I had never been felt  _so glad_ to have been wrong.

The weight, which had seen a partial release earlier, when I first heard Inari's voice over my comm, fully lifted from my shoulders.

"What's Kakashi-sensei doing in there?" Sasuke asked, his eyes locked on me.

"Yeah—I wanna help!"

"It doesn't matter," I answered. My gaze cut to Naruto. "Trust me: you don't want to help."

Naruto blinked.

Sasuke, sharp as ever, scowled. "Oh." He dropped the subject, and instead sent a glare at Inari. "Naruto, shut that kid up."

"Don't be an ass!" Naruto cried. "He's just upset. I think he's allowed to be a crybaby right now."

"Did either of you check him for injuries?" I asked.

"He's not bleeding," Sasuke answered.

As inadequate as it sounded, that was a fair assessment to make when you had a limited amount of time to move. There had been no chance for them to look. The main injury we had to be on the lookout for was a lost finger, and that would have been clear within seconds of looking at him.

Naruto adjusted him, the action awkward and betraying his inexperience with kids. He was holding him incorrectly, too, with one hand fisted in Inari's shirt and the other cupped under his knee, like a child holding a teddy bear.

I held out my arms. "Give him to me."

Inari was light and bony and thin, weighing less than some of the weights I had used to train some days. I wrapped one arm around his back, the other underneath his rear, and settled him on my hip, the way Maen had done with me when I was that small. His sobs kept up.

I put some distance between us and the boys, between us and the base. I set him down on a tree stump and stared at him straight on. His eyes stayed down on the dirt.

"Hey," I said. "Look at me, Inari."

He didn't move.

My fingers came under his chin and I forced his gaze upwards. He jumped at the contact but I didn't give him the chance to pull away.

"Huh—"

"Are you hurt?"

"I'm hungry," he mumbled.

"But you're not hurt?" I asked again.

"Nu-uh."

He was tired, he was hungry, he was traumatized, but none of those things were what I could deal with. All I had for him was first aid, should he need it. He didn't, therefore I could do nothing for him but ease the stress that he was under.

"Good, thank you."

I added a bit of chakra to my finger and tapped him on the side of the neck, the area below the base of his right ear. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he was unconscious in a heartbeat. I steadied him before he could fall, picked him up, slung him over my shoulder.

The vagus nerve, which ran along the side of the neck and connected to the brain and the heart, was a favourite when a shinobi needed to knock somebody out in short order. Hitting Inari's was the kindest option to all involved parties.

"Wha—hey! What's wrong with him?"

"He's unconscious," I said, walking over to where they were. I stooped down and laid him out over the grass. "He's fine."

"You knocked him out," Sasuke said.

"Yeah. Problem?"

He shook his head and smirked, offering no response.

I went to look at Naruto, expecting him to offer no protests, but the expression on his face iced my insides and froze my pulse.

"Naruto?" I asked, unable to keep all the panic from my voice.

Sasuke stiffened.

"The clones," Naruto mumbled. "The clones I had at the house… somebody just popped them."

It took a second, two, three, four, five, for the words to sink in.

 _The clones we left behind at the house had been popped_.

Horror was the first reaction, creeping and slithering and vine-like, gripping my heart in a vice grip that promised to squeeze every out every last bit of life. Anger, white-hot, flickered in the embers of my soul and attempted to restart what had been smothered. Grief followed that, a rain cloud from which a torrential downpour spurted and drowned me from the inside out.

Then, those all faded, overtaken by a numbness that left me hollow.

 _The clones we left behind at the house had been popped_.

"Kakashi-sensei," I said. I was still linked to his private comm. "We need to leave."

"What is it?"

"Naruto's clones were popped. I think Tazuna and Tsunami are dead."

No response.

Naruto sniffed, whimpered, on the verge of tears, but Sasuke looked to be as shell-shocked as I was.

 _The clones we left behind at the house had been popped_.

They were there as a last resort, guards that were meant to defend against a civilian threat, at best. Scare people off. Make them think twice about attacking.

 _The clones we left behind at the house had been popped_.

They had been a precaution that not even Kakashi believed would see use. Two clones could handle most civilians. Gato had hired a shinobi, probably just some cheap genin who he never intended to pay. He had to have sent somebody capable of handling the clones to the house and there was only one reason he would have done that.

_The clones we left behind at the house had been popped._

Gato was dead, gone. His reign over Wave Country was over. The people had a chance at life, an open sea to trade as they wish and feed themselves again.

And yet, Gato had gotten the last laugh.

"Start moving," Kakashi said. "I'll catch up. If you encounter an enemy before I do, you are not to engage."

I envied him—he didn't sound the least bit bothered by the fact that they were dead. It didn't sound like it mattered to him.

I wondered if Kakashi had put any thought towards keeping Tazuna and Tsunami alive, if he had truly cared when he decided on our plan for the evening, decided on what precautions would be taken to ensure their safety.

"Understood." I shut my comm off. I looked to Naruto and Sasuke. "Let's go."

.

.

Kakashi cut down the man in front of him, slit his throat in passing with a kunai.

He would be chastised for the outcome of the mission. His client was dead, his mission was a failure, and he shouldn't have even continued with it in the first place. It would mar his near-spotless record.

Kakashi didn't care about whatever backlash he was going to face upon his return. He knew that the favour he earned from the daimyo of Water would outweigh any shame the loss of a simple peasant client would cost the village. Hiruzen wouldn't be impressed, but he would also see the entire team returning alive as worth the cost.

Kakashi had briefly considered that Gato was luring their group into a trap. The likelihood of it happening had been small in his mind, but he still knew it was a possibility and he could have left one of his students behind to guard against it. He could have left two of them, even.

He  _could have_.

To do that, however, would have been to leave his students isolated and in danger for the sake of two people that he didn't particularly care for. Tazuna was an old man who attempted to do something good and went about it all the wrong way. Tsunami was a kind young woman, innocent, and undeserving of the grief-filled hand she had been dealt in her life. Neither of them were worth the risk to his students.

Kakashi flung a kunai with one hand, a careless flick of the wrist, and it stuck an opponent down the hall in the eye. He walked past, grabbed the hilt and twisted, shoved it far enough that it caused fatal brain damage, and jerked it out again.

Sending his students down a couple of floors without him? Not a concern as they were never out of Shunshin distance.

Sending them a couple minutes ahead, giving them something to focus on while he finished up? He didn't think twice about doing it because there were no immediate threats in the area and he would be joining them shortly.

Kakashi swept the woman's legs out from under her, knocked her to the floor, and stomped on her nose with his heel. Her skull collapsed beneath his foot like it was nothing more than a grape.

Leaving his students fifteen kilometres away and out of comm range? That wasn't happening.

Kakashi had let his students get hurt enough already. He didn't care what it cost—he didn't dare let it happen again. Kakashi assumed that Hiruzen would understand, but again, even if he didn't, Kakashi  _didn't care_.

He wouldn't fail his students again.

.

.

The house was ashes when we arrived.

It was a two-hour trek from the base, as Kakashi was incapable of travelling at typical shinobi speeds. We didn't rush back. It was understood that Tazuna and Tsunami were dead from the second that Naruto reported the loss of his clones—at least, for all of us but Naruto. He had attempted to push us forward until the reality of things sank in. All of his words dissolved into silent tears after that.

There we stood, in front of what had once been a home, watching the remains smoulder and flicker with flames that hadn't yet died out. The early hints of morning showed over the water; the sun peeked up over the horizon and the sky bled a crimson red which seeped out like a disease.

I wrapped my arm around Naruto's waist and rested my head on his shoulder. Sasuke didn't protest when I grabbed his hand and twined my own fingers between his. Naruto cried. I didn't cry, nor did Sasuke. Kakashi had a resigned exhaustion about him that he masked with a slouch.

We took Inari to the village. We knocked on some doors, met with a few of the villagers, explained what happened to who would listen, and after a couple of hours we found a family that agreed to take him in. The couple recognized him upon first glance, knew him by name, as did their children. They shook their heads and muttered words of grief upon hearing about Tazuna and Tsunamis death. They called Inari a child of heroes.

Hearing that reminded me of every reason I never wanted to be a hero.

They offered us a place to stay, as well. Kakashi didn't have to pose the question to us as the answer was obvious. He refused, was gracious, gave a few charming words. We left at the first opportunity.

It all passed in a haze. I made no attempts to pay attention.

I was tired. I wanted to go home.

From the home of the couple, we went straight to the entrance of the village and headed out into the forest, away from the Land of Waves. None of us were fit to travel, and Kakashi made it known that he planned for us to set up camp for the day within an hours walk of the village. We needed to leave. All of us needed to leave.

My feet walked the path away from the village, kicked up dust on the way out.

I knew I would never return to that village for as long as I lived.


	20. Land of Waves: Part 6

I stared at the drenched remnants of our fire, frozen fingers clasped around my knees, and didn't bother to try and protect myself against the bitter breeze that nipped at my skin.

It was the middle of the day and rain poured from the sunless sky—if I didn't know better, I could have mistaken the time for midnight, not noon, from how dark it was around us. Drops of water thundered against the ground, beat, beat, beat into the dirt, spurted bits of mud up into the air. It dripped through the canopy of the tree we sat under, travelled down each broad leaf that adorned the branches of the tree.

Naruto shifted, scooted closer to me and lay his head on my shoulder. A second later Sasuke did the same, moving so that our shoulders were almost touching. I doubted the movement was intentional. The three of us huddled there together to gain the warmth that our wet clothes and bedrolls couldn't provide.

Kakashi slept behind us in the deepest sleep that a shinobi of his calibre was capable of. He'd bandaged the wound that ran up his forearm once we set up camp, cleaned the cracked skin and pulled a length of pristine bandage from out of nowhere to wrap around it, doing a better job than Sasuke or I had done. He fell asleep after that, and had remained that way for the last three hours.

"Hey… hey, Kaka…"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think Inari's gonna be okay?" Naruto asked. His voice was hushed, his breath warm on my cheek. "We kinda… just left him there… and ya know…"

I watched bits of smoke sputter up from the pile of soaked wood in front of us with listless eyes. My gut twisted. "I don't know, Naruto."

* * *

We reached the start of the Hashirama forest, the gates of the village, the bustling streets of the marketplace, and I didn't feel like I was home.

I was cold in the heat of summer, tired after having a generous amount of time to sleep the night before. I wasn't right.

When I passed by the gates of the Nara compound, I felt a spark of life in my otherwise numb chest. The signatures of Shikamaru, Shikaku, Yoshino brushed up against my senses, spots of glorious familiarity, and I felt a burn. I pushed open the door to the house and the heat simmered.

Shoes dropped on the mat and my pack followed. Feet strode forward, one after the other.

The image of Maen sitting on the worn cotton sofa, a cigarette in his mouth, a stack of papers on his lap, eyes already raised to watch my approach, ignited the fire again.

Home.

 _I was home_.

I couldn't hold myself together anymore. My knees buckled and I went crashing down towards the floor—Maen caught me before I hit the ground. His hands came to cradle my face, one calloused palm pressing against each of my cheeks, and his lips moved to form words that I didn't hear over the buzz in my ears and the sobs that rattled my bones.

Unsatisfied with my lack of response, his hands roved over my arms, my torso, my legs.

"I'm—I'm not hu—hurt," I managed. "I'm—"

He pulled me against his chest and silenced the words. His mouth pressed against the top of my head, arms wound around me, and his whole being swallowed up my body.

_Warm._

_It was so warm._

I melted into the embrace. The stress, the frustration, and the grief, products of everything that went wrong over the course of the last two and a half weeks, rushed out of me. Two and a half weeks of bottling up as much as I could manage and shoving it away. Two and a half weeks of stress and pressure.

Maen swept me up and carried me bridal-style through the house, right to his room. He set me down on his bed. When he took a step backwards, away from me, my arms reached out towards him like a child asking to be picked up. He let out a breath and his hand settled on top of my head, but he didn't move to hold me again.

"I'm just grabbing a shirt for you," he murmured. "Your clothes are ruined."

I couldn't argue with that. The clothes I had on were worn, the hems frayed, the fabric stained and torn from being snagged by tree branches as we travelled.

A shower wouldn't have been out of the question, as there was dirt and grime caked along my skin, and my hair was beyond dirty by this point. Maen handed me an oversized t-shirt and prodded me towards his bathroom, and I decided to do that very thing. I kept it quick—I washed my hair, scrubbed at my skin. I showered for as long as the water swirled down the drain brown.

When I walked out of the bathroom, I saw Maen sitting on his mussed bed, one leg hidden beneath the dark green bedcovers, my tattered pack at the foot of the bed and a steaming cup of tea on the bedside table. Most of my body was still wet. My hair soaked the back of my shirt and my feet left watermarks with each step, but I didn't have it in me to care. I stumbled forward and crashed into Maen. He took the sudden collision without issue, leant back to compensate for the force of my weight and eased me down onto the bed.

I started crying again, the emotion inside of me like a bubble being popped.

The urge was overwhelming to the point where I had no choice but to deal with it. There was no way for me to shut it off and shove it away. I spent the entire mission doing that. Emotions could be buried for so long before they demanded to be felt. An ocean crashes over the shore whether or not the sand is ready to be washed away, the autumn breeze yanks the leaves from their branch regardless of if the leaf is prepared for departure. In the same way, emotions are a force of nature in and of themselves.

I curled up in the fetal position and let myself cry. I lay there and let myself be held.

I let myself remember that no matter what, I wasn't alone.

* * *

Maen was mad.

He didn't get that way often—it had been  _years_ since he last felt the cold fury that settled like a rock in his gut. It wasn't a sensation he was fond of. He might have attempted to ignore it except for the fact that, given what had happened, the feeling was entirely founded and rational.

He leapt from rooftop to rooftop with a single destination in mind. It was early in the morning, the sun scraping against the horizon. Maen needed to be fast. He needed to catch his target, talk some sense into him, and get back to the house before Kasumi woke up and found him missing, if she hadn't already.

Thankfully, his target was predictable.

Kakashi didn't turn to face Maen as he touched down on the ground, but Maen had no doubt that Kakashi knew he was there.

"I want to ask what the fuck you were thinking, bringing a group of fresh genin on a B-rank mission, but I already know the answer to that question," Maen drawled. He walked forward, hands shoved in his pockets and one eye squinted against the morning sunlight. Kakashi stiffened a fraction. "You weren't."

"Ah."

"That's it? You put three kids into a life-threatening situation, and that's really the only thing you have to say?"

Kakashi scratched the back of his head and turned from the memorial stone. "I did what I had to do."

"What about those kids?"

"What about them?"

Maen stopped and raised a hand to block out the sun. "You're emotionally stunted, not stupid." He felt anger rather than sympathy when Kakashi offered no response but a blank look and a tilted head. "You… you're  _fucking kidding me,_ right?"

"I would have had to actually say something to do that."

"Do you even understand the magnitude of what happened?"

Kakashi shrugged, strolled towards Maen. "Two civilians were caught in the crossfire of the mission. It's unfortunate that the boy lost his parents, and I'm sure that the kids are quite upset about it, but—"

"Stop." Maen pinched the bridge of his nose and hissed out a breath. "Those kids deserve better than having you be so blasé about their mental wellbeing. Don't underestimate how severely something like that can weigh on the mind of somebody as young as them."

Kakashi raised his eyebrow. "Oh?"

"My kid is currently lying in bed at home after having spent the entire night crying because  _you_  failed to do your damn job right. Zabuza Momochi was her first kill—not to mention the fact that, right after, she had to cremate two bodies and clean up the whole site as per protocol. After something like that you're supposed to, you know,  _talk to your student_. Ensure that they're stable."

Another blank look.

"Naruto-kun and Sasuke-kun, too. What about them? Their mission resulted in a kid being orphaned and neither of them have anybody at home to talk to about this. They're both orphans themselves. Did you talk about any of this with them? At all? Did you  _consider_ that it might fuck with them?"

Another blank look.

Maen wanted to be surprised that Kakashi lacked any and all ability to deal with the emotional needs of his students—he wasn't. Maen had seen Kakashi in his early days, graduated at the same time as him, had watched him in the war and intermittently witnessed his years spent in ANBU; he didn't need anybody to tell him that Kakashi Hatake was emotionally incapable, nor did he need them to tell him why.

That didn't stop him from wanting to shove Kakashi's face into the dirt, but Maen could at least acknowledge that the situation wasn't black and white, especially considering he didn't know how much Kakashi was withholding from him.

He didn't  _know_ whether or not Kakashi cared. Kakashi wasn't doing much of anything to show that the situation mattered to him, but Kakashi was also the kind of person who wore a literal mask over the majority of his face. To say he kept his emotions hidden would be an understatement.

Maen levelled his gaze with Kakashi. "What are you gonna do if you get these kids killed, huh?"

 _There_.

Maen caught a spark of emotion—anger, guilt, frustration—that was smoothed down into a placid expression and posture. It was like that burst of light which hit your eyes in the split second before you blocked the sun out with your hand. A flash of fierce, harsh emotion, and that was all it took to assure Maen that there was at least  _something_  there. It wasn't enough to satisfy him, but Maen knew he wasn't going to get anything more substantial, no matter what he said or did. Pushing further would yield fewer results, not more. He had to pick his battles. He had to quit while he was ahead, insignificant as the ground gained was.

That was all he cared about at the end of the day. He wanted to air out his own emotions on the matter, but there were more constructive ways to do that. All he wanted was to know that what happened on Kasumi's last mission wouldn't happen again and if he saw what he thought he did, then he felt some confidence that Kakashi wouldn't allow for a repeat.

"Mah, I won't," Kakashi answered, waved a hand. "They're in good hands with me."

Maen turned and headed out of the training grounds. "They're not, actually," he said, chin lifted to toss the words over his shoulder. "Change that, and do it sooner rather than later. You don't get to throw these kid's lives away."

.

.

Kakashi watched the figure retreat across the rooftops and found himself being reminded of why most people avoided pissing off a Nara.

He wondered if Maen got what he wanted out of the conversation.

Kakashi turned to look at the memorial stone, stared at the names scrawled across it, his eyes flitting between the three that were most familiar to him. He rolled the conversation over in his head.

He hadn't known the extents which Kasumi went to cover up the scene of the fight—"I cleaned up," was all she had said to him, and he hadn't pressed, but he realized now that he should have—nor did he consider that either of the boys would see lasting mental repercussions. Kakashi had seen worse, he had always seen worse and had borne witness to it at a far younger age. However, Kakashi knew he wasn't the ideal tape-measure for gauging mental health and recognized that he needed to re-evaluate what constituted 'harm' in regards to his students.

There was more work for him to do than he imagined.

Kakashi sighed. He pulled down his mask and lifted a thumb, bit into it and drew blood. His hands clapped together and landed on the dirt in front of him, a bit of chakra, and a puff of smoke erupted from the ground.

Bisuke and Urushi stared at him, awaiting orders.

"I've got a job for you two."

.

.

The only thought Naruto had upon waking up from a fitful, unpleasant sleep and finding a dog on his chest was whether or not dogs could eat instant ramen.

He discovered they could when he made breakfast that morning. In fact, the one who snuck into his house enjoyed it—not as much as Naruto did, but the dog was a close second, if the gusto in which the dog chowed down was any indication.

Naruto decided that he liked dogs, even if the one that found him was kind of ugly.

.

.

Sasuke saw the dog emerge out of the corner of his eye. On instinct, one hand reached for the pouch of training kunai he had strapped to his leg, and his body jerked around to face it as he tossed the kunai.

The dog sidestepped the weapon and squared an affronted look at Sasuke.

Sasuke frowned—he had no idea how a dog, of all things, got into the compound and made it all the way to the training grounds. The dog lifted its muzzle into the air and sniffed, reminding Sasuke a bit of a wolf. It was gruff enough to be one, if not for the odd shirt that was wrapped around the animal's body.

Sasuke stepped forward as the dog did and he got a better look at the symbol that was stitched into the dog's shirt. Henohenomoheji. There was one person the dog could belong to.

"Go back to Kakashi," Sasuke said. "Tell him that I don't need you here."

The dog ignored him and trotted forward to settle down on the grass.

"I meant it. Go."

The dog lay on its belly, having found a perfect splash of morning sunlight, and set its muzzle down on its paws. It stared at Sasuke. It wasn't going anywhere.

Sasuke forced out a breath. "Fine, whatever. Just don't pee on anything."

.

.

I woke up feeling tired.

I sat up in the empty bed and oriented myself through sleep-grit eyes. The room was empty but the door had been left open a crack, and the scent of breakfast being made and a sliver of light slithered through. I could feel Maen there, feel him move as he prepared the food.

 _Home_.

My legs swung over the side of the bed, my joint and limbs stiff from having slept for—my head turned to look at the clock—thirteen hours. There was a pair of dark green slippers waiting there in front of the bed and a fresh set of clothes on the bedside table. I put on the slippers but left the clothes in favor of Maen's t-shirt that I already had on.

The smell of eggs and rice became more distinct the closer I got. I rounded the corner into the kitchen and saw Maen cooking in front of the stove, apron and all, his spatula snuggled beneath an egg that sizzled as he lifted it up off of the pan.

"You have good timing," he said, turning to look at me. He rolled his eyes at the shirt but I could see him smirk all the same.

"Smells good," I mumbled.

He nodded. "Thanks. Sit."

I stumbled into a chair and found a cup of tea placed in front of me. I lifted it to my lips and took a careful sip, enjoying the sight of Maen wandering around the kitchen in a pastel pink, floral embossed apron, long black hair flowing loose behind him as he moved. It was a sight. Maen would make a wonderful trophy wife if he ever decided to get hitched.

The scent of pork cooking hit my nose. I fought off the sudden burst of acid that burned up my throat, clamped a hand over my nose and mouth and squeezed my eyes shut.

I heard the pan get moved off the stove, metal scraping on metal, a second of silence, and the chair beside me was dragged across the floor. Half a minute passed. I didn't move my hand away until I was confident that I'd keep my stomach. I opened my eyes and leaned back in my chair.

A small part of me was terrified that I was going to burst out in tears again, but the itch in my throat didn't come—I'd gotten it out of my system the night before.

My gaze found Maen's but I couldn't get my mouth to form words.

Maen stood, set his hand on my head and went back into the kitchen to finish up, dragging his fingers through my hair on the way, and I realized that I didn't have to.

We ate in silence. I didn't have much of an appetite. I ate what I could but the churning of my stomach never quite halted, and there was still nearly half my breakfast left when I put my fork down and pushed the plate away. Maen didn't comment on it; he wrapped up what was there and put it in the fridge.

I wanted to go back to sleep for another few hours, days, weeks. I didn't feel like I was ready to be awake. Instead, I wandered over to the couch and flopped down onto the cushions and blankets, flipped on the radio and let the music drone on in the background. The couch dipped when Maen joined me, and I crawled over to sit on his lap without a second thought. It was nice for the fifteen minutes that it lasted.

"There's somebody standing outside the window," I said into his shirt. I could feel them hovering there.

"Yeah, I know," he said.

"Are you going to make them wait?"

"For another minute."

"I don't think you're allowed to do that."

"I haven't looked at him yet. He can't prove I'm ignoring him."

"What if he can hear us?"

"He can't."

There was a knock on the glass.

"Are you sure about that?"

"For fuck's sake," Maen muttered. He slid me off his lap and walked over to the slider door, yanked it open. "What?"

"Sir, your help is being requested," an androgynous voice said. "Hokage-sama needs you to report in."

I lifted my face from the blankets and stared at the figure, took in the mask and the uniform, and bit back a frown—it was ANBU. Maen held out his hand and the operative produced a scroll from thin air to place into his palm. His expression remained stoic as he read through it.

"Yeah, alright," Maen said. "Go. I'll be there in five."

The operative disappeared in a flash.

"You're getting called in?" I asked, pushing myself up into a sitting position.

"Briefly," Maen answered. "I'll be back by dinner."

"Oh."

He looked annoyed but not at me. One of his hands swept through his hair. "I'm sorry, kiddo."

I didn't want him to go and leave me alone, wasn't ready to be alone. I wanted him to stay with me. I wanted to be greedy. It wasn't up to me, though, so I said, "It's fine."

Maen disappeared into his bedroom and came out two minutes later in full ANBU attire with a thick-lined owl mask sitting on the side of his head. His time in ANBU was no secret. I saw the tattoo on his bicep more times than I could count, though it was never something I outright asked him about.

He nodded at me on his way out. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Bye," I mumbled.

He paused, hesitated, and darted back over to where I was sitting. He dropped a kiss on top of my head and lingered, let out a breath. Then he was gone.

.

.

Some days, Maen hated his job.

She needed him. He couldn't stay with her. When ANBU called, retired or not, you answered. He didn't have a  _choice_ in the matter. The mission fell into his realm of specialty and ANBU was down a captain. It made sense that they were tapping him, he couldn't argue with that, but he still wished they hadn't.

Maen stood on the roof of his building and looked to the Hokage monument. His gaze shifted, drawn to his cousin's house across the compound.

He couldn't decline the mission, but he  _could_ make the Hokage wait five more minutes—he had something he needed to do. Hiruzen would understand.

.

.

"Hey."

I jolted, snapped back into reality by the person speaking in front of me. The movement sent the pillow that had been in my lap down to the floor, the blanket strewn over my body sliding down my shoulder.

Shikamaru watched me with an eyebrow raised.

"Hey," I answered.

He threw himself onto the couch beside me and on instinct I repositioned, edged closer so that my shoulder was pressed up into his side. He grunted, adjusted to compensate, and pulled the pillow up from the ground so he could put it under his head.

I waited for him to ask about the mission, to say anything about it, hint towards it, but he didn't. He lay there with his eyes shut and fell asleep after a couple of minutes.

I was grateful for it.

I didn't want to talk about the mission—all I wanted was to not have to be alone. I doubted it was a coincidence, the timing too perfect that Shikamaru should arrive minutes after Maen left.

_I was grateful for it._

I pulled my legs into my chest and used Shikamaru as a pillow, along with some of the extra blankets littered around the couch. My eyes closed and within seconds I had fallen asleep, dead to the rest of the world.

.

.

They did nothing for the whole of the day.

A few hours were spent sleeping on the couch, of which Shikamaru was the first to wake from. He watched her fitful slumber for a few minutes, her tossing and turning and letting out the odd, muddled whimper, until he decided that Kasumi would be better off woken up. He didn't ask what she had seen and she didn't offer it to him. The deadened look to her eyes as she rubbed away unshed tears was enough to tell him that it had been nothing good.

She had gone quiet after that, staring off at nothing in particular while the music from the radio occupied the air around them.

Shikamaru didn't know what to say to her. He knew he should say  _something_ , but he had no idea what that something could be. Asking about the mission would aggravate the issue. Nobody had told him what happened, save that it had been  _bad_  and resulted in the mission being bumped up to a B-rank, and even he knew better than to ask. Casual chatter about what had gone on over the last couple of weeks while she was gone didn't feel appropriate, either. He found that he didn't have much of anything to say.

The silence, though, wasn't comfortable. It normally was for them. They could go entire days without a word of conversation and it would be fine, but sitting next to her then was the exact opposite of comfortable. It was the nature of the silence. The finality of the silence. The fact that the silence was caused by something being  _very, very wrong_ with his best friend and he knew that it was his job to fix it, that had been his job since they were small, but that he didn't know how to fix it.

When it became too much, Shikamaru grabbed Kasumi by the wrist and led her outside.

He didn't know if that would help but at least having more around them than the radio and an empty living room had to be worth something. Kasumi didn't resist or question his actions. She trailed along behind him and that did more to unsettle Shikamaru then anything else.

He led her into the forest. Past the sunny grass spots, past the gardens. He had a specific location in mind. Not many people knew but if you walked for long enough in the Nara forest, you could happen upon meadows and clearings, breaks in the trees that were favoured by the deer for grazing. Shikamaru's father had shown him years and years ago on a whim, and Shikamaru had visited it ever since when he wanted to get away. He hadn't shown it to anybody else.

They walked for twenty-five minutes and not once did Kasumi ask him where they were going. Her eyes began to clear, shifting around the area in what he knew was curiosity, but she didn't say a single word the entire trip.

They broke through the treeline. Shikamaru let go of her wrist and it fell limp at her side.

"Oh," she mumbled.

Shikamaru shoved his hands in his pockets. "Yeah."

"This is…" She walked forward, blinked. "Wow."

"Pretty cool," he agreed. "Tou-chan brought me here a few years ago. Said that he and kaa-chan would come here a lot before they had me, whenever they needed some time alone."

"I… didn't know there was anything out this far," she said. "I've never walked this deep into the forest."

Shikamaru shrugged. "Most people don't."

He ambled ahead and flopped down onto his back, hands behind his head, eyes locked on the clouds that drifted through the sky. Kasumi hesitated for a few seconds before she joined him. She sat cross-legged, her head shifting around as she admired the meadow.

"This place is like a little slice of heaven," she said.

"Yeah. I like it."

She dropped one of her elbows onto her knee and her chin into her palm. Her other hand fiddled with a flower that jutted out from the ground around her ankles, her thumb flicking over the soft white petal. She plucked it from the ground and held it in front of her face, sniffed it, and set it back behind her ear.

There was life in her eyes again.

She smiled, lifted her chin her lock eyes with him. "Thank you," she murmured.

Shikamaru rolled his head back to stare up at the sky. "'Course."

.

.

It was eight in the evening when Maen came home.

I heard him enter through the front door, the sound of a crinkling bag and the scent of fried seafood accompanying him. I looked up from my book in time to see him walk into the living room in regular shinobi attire rather than his ANBU uniform, a bag of takeout in hand. He looked as tired as I felt, his shoulders sagged lower than usual and his eyes half lidded.

He nodded to me. "Hey, kiddo."

"Hi. How was it?"

"About as much fun as I expected," he answered. "You?"

"Good. Thanks for sending over Shika-chan."

Maen snorted, walking through the living room and into the kitchen. "I can't believe you still call him that."

"I'm going to call him that for the rest of his life." I groped for my bookmark and closed up the novel, stood up, stretched. I tossed away my blankets and moved to join him. "What'd you get?"

"Bunch of stuff from the tempura place by Satoshi's. Prawns, starfish, squid, then those sweet-potato ones with the—"

"Spicy honey sauce," I finished. "My favourite."

He smirked. "Yeah." He reached a hand into the bag and pulled out another container. "There's some udon in there, too."

I grabbed us plates while Maen went to go and change into casual clothes. We sat down at the little table in the kitchen, across from each other, and ate in the dim lighting the bulb above our heads provided.

For the first time in weeks, I was aware of the hunger that gnawed at my stomach. It was a sensation I hadn't realized I missed. I didn't have to force my dinner down. I had an appetite, I wanted to finish what I had served to myself, and that was what I did. The empty plate that stared up at me when the meal was finished left me with a sense of catharsis that I couldn't begin to explain.

Maen seemed satisfied when he cleared away the dishes. I offered to help clean up, but he shooed me away. I landed on the couch first and when my eyes began to droop and I was on the verge of falling asleep, I set my sights on his bed. I may have seemingly regained my appetite, but I had no confidence that I could make it through the night alone in a bed yet. Baby steps.

I swapped out the t-shirt I had on for a fresh one, grabbing it from Maen's closet and ignoring the shirt from my own that still sat on the bedside table. Maen walked into the room and rolled his eyes at the sight.

"Really?"

"They're comfortable."

"I know, that's why I own them."

"Are you going to make me take it off?"

He took one look at me and muttered, "Stupid question."

His mouth lifted in a smirk. He lunged forward, faster than I could blink, and wrapped an arm around my waist and tossed me onto the bed, like he used to when I was little. I laughed, like I used to when I was little.

Maen jumped onto the bed beside me and landed with enough force that I bounced up.

It was eight thirty in the evening, still early, still with bits of the sunset tainting the sky, but both of us settled in.

"Goodnight, Maen."

"Night kiddo."

I fell asleep that night with a smile on my face.

Little by little, I was working my way back to normalcy.


	21. Chunin Exams: Part 1

I stopped in my kata, raised a hand to block out the afternoon sun, and watched as Sasuke approached training ground three with a scruffy ninken in tow.

He acted as if the dog wasn't trotting along at his side. He didn't look down at it once. The dog returned the favor, holding a position three feet from Sasuke's side with his muzzle pointed straight ahead.

"I never knew you were a dog person," I called to him. "Figured you were more into cats."

His face twitched in annoyance, and I got an eyeroll out of it but no verbal response.

Naruto was more forthcoming when he got to the training ground an hour later.

"I just woke up one morning and he was there!" Naruto said. He was grinning from ear to ear, and one of his hands rested on top of the dog's head. "He's really cool. I haven't named him or nothing, but I can do that later. I'm gonna keep him. He eats ramen and stuff, so like, I don't have to worry about dog food."

I looked at the dog, who I swore gave me the canine equivalent of a shrug. "You fed him ramen."

"Well, yeah."

"Dogs can't eat instant ramen."

"What? How come?"

"They're supposed to eat dog kibble, or raw meat."

"Oh. I uh… I guess I can pick up some of that. Think Kiba might give me some? He's probably got lots, 'cause of Akamaru."

"Naruto," I said, almost— _almost_ —feeling guilty about having to be the one to say it. "You realize that you can't keep this dog, right?"

"Wha—wait, why not?"

The dog perked up at this. His tail pad against the dirt and he lifted his head up from where it rested on his paws.

"He's one of Kakashi-sensei's ninken."

"Eh?"

I reached over and poked at the Henohenomoheji stitched into his shirt. The dog leaned into the contact, eager for affection. "Look."

"I mean, yeah, he's got weird clothes—"

"Henohenomoheji, remember? It goes on scarecrows, like—"

Naruto planted his palm onto his forehead and groaned. "Ah, man!"

"I was gonna say I'm surprised Kakashi-sensei didn't send a note, or something, but then I realized that I'm really not." I turned my eye to the dog. "How come you never told him?"

The dog didn't answer.

"He doesn't talk," Naruto said. "I tried."

"He  _can_  talk, I think. He's just choosing not to."

"Why'd he do that?"

"He's Kakashi-sensei's ninken," I said again. "Do you really expect anything else?"

Naruto scratched the back of his head. "S'pose not." He leaned over to look at where Sasuke sat a ways away. "Hey, Sasuke! Did your dog talk at all?"

Sasuke cracked an eye open just enough to display his dismay at being interrupted. "No."

Naruto looked back to me. "Are you sure he can talk?"

Both of the dogs perked up, and I felt a familiar signature flash in the immediate vicinity. I bit back my response.

"They can both talk quite well, actually."

Naruto jumped. A panicked yelp left his mouth and he scrambled away, one hand up in the direction of the voice. " _Kakashi-sensei!_ "

"Boss!" both of the dogs cried at once.

The one at Naruto's side hopped up and moved to sit in front of Kakashi, tail thumping against the ground, while the other rose from his spot across the field and bounded over with his tongue flapping out around his jowls. Kakashi bent down and placed a hand on either of their heads. The expression on his face held genuine affection, and I swore that if he were alone with them, the next thing to leave his mouth would be babytalk.

"Thank you both for your good work," he said. "I'll call on you again in a bit."

"Got it," they said, again in unison.

A puff of smoke was all that marked them as having been there.

Kakashi turned to us and clapped his hands together. "Alright kiddies, go get warmed up. We've got a busy day ahead of us."

.

.

Kakashi sat across from me and stared.

Naruto and Sasuke were in the forest behind us, the sound of their bickering just audible from where we were. They were tasked with learning how to tree walk in a week. I figured they'd have it figured out in three days' time, at most.

I let the silence hold for a few minutes before I said, "Alright then, I'll bite." I leant back on my hands, and the grass poked through the mesh along my forearms to tickle my skin. "Any reason in particular that we're having a staring contest?" Kakashi blinked. "A staring contest that I've now won."

"Ah, right." He shifted, elbow on his knee and chin cupped in his palm. "I want to talk to you about your current skills."

"What about them?"

"Well, you're a taijutsu specialist who uses some odd, bastardized version of the Konoha standard, which focuses on defensive maneuvers. You've got a kekkei genkai which will be very effective as a way to make stealth kills or sneak through enemies while out on missions once you've mastered it. You've also got chain-based weapons which can be effective at range but not at close quarters, which is where the rest of your abilities function best at." He squared me with a look. "From the outside looking in, you don't appear to have any direction. Am I wrong?"

I swallowed. "No."

"Mmm." The expression on his face as he watched me was odd. It wasn't anything I had seen on him before. I was used to bored, sleepy, fake cheer, and various degrees of the in between. What I saw now was focused,  _present_ , hidden beneath an otherwise tired face. Determined, almost. There was intent there, and that was something I found more comforting than anything I had ever seen from Kakashi. "You don't have anything you considered specializing in?"

"Tracking," I blurted out.

He raised his eyebrow. "Is that so?"

I hesitated. "Maybe?"

It was the first thing to enter my mind.

Of the field specializations, it was the least dangerous. The fact of the matter was that I wasn't suited for in village specializations. I would never be a pencil pusher. I would never be an interrogator. I would never be a strategist. I had too much potential to be useful out in the field for that to fly with the village.

Tracking, in and of itself, carried  _less_ risk than a lot of other specializations. Unless it was a solo mission, you got sent with other shinobi who would be there for the sole purpose of being useful in a combat scenario. Even better were the missions where an item was the goal, not a person, and the chance for combat further decreased.

If I thought I could manage being a recon specialist then I would have pushed for that, but recon involved infiltration and infiltration involved people skills and I lacked those to the point where I doubted I could ever succeed in that specialization. Recon had its own dangers, though.

Tracking would be my best bet. As it was, with my skill in chakra control for enhancing my senses and my extensive chakra radar, I had potential for it.

He made a noise of indifference. "It's a start. I want you to look into finding a more offensive, agility-based taijutsu style. Something fast. I also want you to practice grabbing hold of things with those chains. They may not have much potential for you to use in combat, but they can be used to make up range and catch fleeing targets." He scratched his head, paused. "I suppose I can start you on enhancing your senses for learning to track through the week."

I stared at Kakashi like he'd grown a third head.

He was being helpful; he was taking initiative as our sensei. It was so opposite from the sensei who tossed a ninjutsu scroll at me and left me to my own devices that all I had to stop myself from double checking the signature just to be sure somebody else wasn't sitting in his place.

"Okay," was all I said.

"Good." He pulled down his hitae-ate and opened his sharingan. "Try and channel as much chakra into your nose as you can. I'll tell you what you're doing wrong."

.

.

Through his sharingan, Kakashi watched the chakra travel up through her paths, flit around her chest, worm its way through her throat, and enter the nasal cavity. Her control over the chakra didn't waver for a second the entire trip. If he hadn't sat through the last two hours of her doing the exact same thing over and over without any breaks, he never would have guessed; she showed no hint of fatigue.

It came time for the hard part: coating the entire cavity with a layer of chakra.

She thinned and spread her chakra—Kakashi could see her nose twitch as the chakra began to do its work and she was flooded with feedback from her enhanced sense—around the area. It held for a second, her face scrunched up in discomfort, and her control over the chakra grew shaky. Kasumi sneezed. At the sudden movement her chakra snapped away from her and slithered back into her reserves.

"Fuck," she groaned.

She broke from her meditative position to flop back on the grass, ever dramatic. She lay there for a second. Kakashi saw her chest rise and fall as she took a deep breath. Then she pulled herself back up and drew her legs into a cross, straightened her back, and settled her hands in her lap again.

Kakashi raised an eyebrow, expectant.

"Yeah, yeah," she muttered. "Lost focus."

"Correct."

"All I could smell was grass and sweat." She cast her eyes over to where the boys were throwing themselves at the trees, having not stopped since Kakashi set them with the task either. He could see the sweat staining their clothes from where he sat.

Kakashi hummed. "Yes," he answered. "You've been working hard. Perspiration is a normal bodily reaction."

She turned her gaze back to him and shrugged. "I smell fine—it's you, I think. I always heard that old people sweat constantly, but I'd never had to find out for myself." She tilted her head. "Is it true that you start sweating in weird places, too?"

Kakashi treated her to a cheery eye-smile. "Channel your chakra again."

She rolled her eyes and gave a muttered "asshole" under her breath, which she didn't bother trying to hide, but did as she was asked.

Despite the running commentary, Kakashi found himself surprised by how quickly she picked things up and how well she applied his corrections. She was a fast learner. If he had bothered to teach her anything himself in the past, instead of just throwing a scroll at her and leaving her to her own devices, he might have already known that.

Kasumi had the chakra over her passage, sneezed, and again the chakra faded. "Fuck." She raised an arm to rub at her nose. "It feels so weird."

"You get used to it," Kakashi said. "Try again." When she squared him with an unamused look, he offered her another eyesmile. "Only way to get used to it is to keep going."

He expected her to throw another barb his way, but she just heaved a sigh. "Yeah, I know." She closed her eyes and began to channel her chakra without another complaint.

Kakashi watched her. He found it funny that of his team, Naruto and Sasuke were the two who grabbed the most attention—if anybody were to ask him, he'd tell them that he was most fascinated with Kasumi, for better or worse.

The two boys were predictable once you spent long enough around them and got over their respective statuses as the village jinchuuriki and the last Uchiha. His kunoichi, however?

The chakra spread out and covered Kasumi's entire nasal cavity. She managed to keep it there for five or so seconds, the control imperfect as minor wisps escaped her grasp during that time, before all it of fell away.

Kasumi opened her eyes and rubbed at her nose, but there was a victorious grin on her face that Kakashi had never seen before. Their gaze met. Without a word from either of them, she went right back to channeling her chakra.

 _Yeah_ , Kakashi thought.  _She's definitely the interesting one._

.

.

I found myself moving further away from the village rather than towards it after team training.

Something on my chakra sense caught my attention. I could sense Lee in the back, where he always trained, but he wasn't alone; there was somebody else with him, and it wasn't either of his teammates. It was one of the last people I would ever expect to be hanging around Lee, especially in a training scenario.

I walked onto the training ground, hands on my hips, and eyes on the body collapsed in a heap in front of Lee. "You replaced me while I was gone, Lee-kun."

"Ah! Kasumi-chan!" he cried. "It is very good to see you!"

"Yeah, you too." I stifled a laugh. "It's uh… nice to see you, Sakura-chan. You're looking well."

I heard a groan come from her body. That was a sensation I could relate to; the mere thought of my first weeks training with Lee was enough to make my entire body ache.

"Sakura-chan has decided to train with me! I hope you do not mind!"

"Not at all," I said. "But uh… out of curiosity… what spurred this all on?"

Sakura unfurled herself and rolled onto her back. Her face was beaded with sweat, the wisps of pink hair that escaped her braid sticking to it. Her chest heaved. Still, there was a tiny smile on her face.

"Ino and I… were looking for you… a week ago… and when… we got here… Lee-kun was here… but you weren't… so we trained… with him instead…"

"And you came back," I said. "I'm… impressed, actually."

Of the two, I wasn't surprised that it was Sakura to stick it out over Ino. Both girls could be stubborn, but I had always known Sakura to be the more bullheaded of the two, which was exactly what it took to train with Lee. There was also the fact that Ino could get away with skipping out on honing her taijutsu skills. She had a family technique to fall back on and a team designed to keep her safe while she used it, and Sakura benefitted from neither of those luxuries.

It was the same reason Sakura stuck it out training with Tsunade in another life. It was the same reason Sakura had the guts to ask to train with Tsunade in the first place. Two different girls, two different outlooks.

The smile on her face widened. "Ino said it was… too much… with her team… training too… She wants to keep training… with you… but… I kind of like… training with Lee-kun…" She let out a long, gusty breath. "It really… hurts, though…"

"It hurts less after a few weeks," I said. "And if that's the case, then you're getting the better end of the deal. Lee-kun's a far better training partner than I am."

"You are very kind!"

"I mean, it's true. You're fully into taijutsu and you've been doing it for way longer than I have. A lot of what I know, I learnt from you."

His cheeks lit up tomato red and he jerked forward into a deep bow. "I am unworthy of this compliment!"

I tapped my knuckles on the back of his head. "Quit that." He straightened. "I came here to ask you something, anyways. Any chance you have a fast, fluid kind of taijutsu style that you can show me?"

"I do not at this juncture!" he said. "However, if you give me a day, I can ask Gai-sensei if he has anything he can suggest!"

"Appreciated," I said. I gave Sakura one last, amused look. "I'll leave you two to your training. Good luck, Sakura-chan!"

* * *

Shikaku turned to look at me as I stepped onto the porch of the Nara household. "How's your shogi game these days?"

"Near-nonexistent, as usual," I answered. I settled down across from him. "We're not going to make it more than a few turns into any games we start. Sorry to tell you, if that's all you called me here for."

He snorted. "It's not," he said. "I actually called you here because Hokage-sama asked me to."

"Okay..."

"When were you planning on turning in your mission report?"

"Oh. That."

"That," Shikaku said. "It was supposed to be in the last time you saw your sensei. If you had any other sensei, I'm sure Hokage-sama would trust your sensei to get them from you."

"Kakashi-sensei didn't hand his in either, did he?"

"Nope."

"Right, of course."

"One of your other teammates did, though," he went on. "Sasuke Uchiha gave his directly to the desk chunin this morning."

"And Naruto didn't."

Shikaku set me with a look that clearly asked "what do you think?" as he shuffled the pieces on the board into their starting arrangement.

"I was going to turn it in soon?"

"Really? Maen said that he hadn't seen you start working on it."

I muttered a curse. "Traitor."

"It doesn't matter," Shikaku said. "Hokage-sama asked me to get a verbal report from you instead." When I offered him nothing but a stare, Shikaku raised an eyebrow. "That's not optional, either. Naruto-kun has somebody going to him right now to do the same."

"Who?"

"Iruka Umino, I heard."

Shikaku sat back, hands folded into his sleeves and eyes holding their usual sharp glint. "You can have first move," he said. I looked down at the board and lapsed into silence—I was going to at least try and put up some resistance. "I want you to talk and play."

I opened my mouth to protest and shut it in the next instance.

A serious game of shogi was played in near silence because all the attention of the players was on the game and how best to finish it. What they think their opponent might do, what they'd do in this or that amount of moves. Planning. If Shikaku wanted me to talk while I played, then I knew he was trying to take my attention either from the report I was about to give or the game that I was about to play.

Which was the more likely motivator was obvious; Shikaku didn't need to distract me to thoroughly cream me in shogi.

"Yeah," I murmured. "Right. Okay."

I recounted leaving the village, scouting on the trip through Fire Country, encountering the thugs and the demon brothers. Shikaku didn't utter a single word. I didn't have any issues.

Then I got to Zabuza and Haku's deaths and things went sour.

"I could still feel his chakra," I was saying. "I knew that he wasn't dead—Kakashi-sensei didn't, though. He was just talking to the hunter-nin. I couldn't get a message to him without alerting the hunter-nin. So I… did what I knew I had to do. I threw a kunai aimed at his neck."

The hand that I held the shogi piece in shook. Shikaku flicked his eyes down to my hand, placed his piece, and nodded. "Your turn."

I blinked. I did so after a moment of contemplation.

A couple more moves passed in silence.

"You threw the kunai…" Shikaku prompted.

"Right yeah… I… threw the kunai." I took a deep breath. "The hunter-nin reacted. They lunged for the kunai and knocked it away, and then Kakashi-sensei… he got the hunter-nin in the throat with a kunai… at the same time. I think. The hunter-nin fell to the ground and Kakashi-sensei finished the job."

My eyes wandered over to the forest, the sky, the grassy expanse behind the house. I could feel a couple of deer lingering near the area but none of them ventured close enough that they were visible.

"Your move."

My eyes jerked back to the board—Shikaku had taken his turn. Moreover, I'd fallen silent.

"Kakashi-sensei passed out from chakra exhaustion right after that. I had Naruto and Sasuke-kun take him ahead with the client while I…" I forced out a breath. "While I cleaned up. I followed protocol as best as I could. I diluted any bodily fluids with dirt and scattered them around the area. And I slit Zabuza's throat and burned both his and the hunter-nin's bodies." My chest tightened, and I ignored the near-dead tone that I spoke the words in.

"What did you do with the sword?"

"What?"

"Zabuza Momochi's sword," Shikaku clarified. "What did you do with it?"

"Oh," I murmured. I hadn't thought about the sword since storing it, and with so much having happened since then, my possessing it had slipped my mind. "I stored it. It's still sitting at the bottom of my mission pack—I haven't fully unloaded it yet."

Shikaku nodded. "Hold onto it for now, I guess. We'll see what Hokage-sama wants done with it. Take your turn and keep going." His face gave away no reaction to the information that I had given him.

I put my piece on the board and continued my story. At the points where I stopped, zoned out, Shikaku would give me a minute or two to gather myself before he pushed me forward again, usually with a reminder to take my move. The game did its job in keeping me grounded throughout the recounting.

It got harder the longer things went on, though. Remembering what happened to Inari, the state we left his life in, with no home and no living relatives to call his own and nothing to his name but the clothes on his back. What was he thinking, right now in Wave? How was he handling everything? Did he hate us? I wouldn't blame him if he did. We left his entire life in shambles without so much as a parting word—we ran away with our tails between our legs like cowards. It was the right thing to do for ourselves, I stood by that much, but that didn't change the reality of our actions.

Kakashi  _needed_ proper medical attention for the wound on his arm, before the wound on his arm managed to get any worse. I saw the scar it left during our training session a couple of days ago. It was thick and jagged, half of it clearly visible while the rest was hidden by his sleeve.

I hadn't been in any condition to stick around, either. I had hit the point of exhaustion and then flown straight past it, and I hadn't been prepared to face that. I had never imagined things would go the way they did. It wasn't a mistake I would ever make again, not on my life, but it left me ragged. I would have been barely better than dead weight if we stuck around.

Still, still, still.

Inari deserved better than to be abandoned and to have to hear the news from a few people that had no involvement in the situation. He deserved better than having to  _be_ in that situation.

We failed him, and we did it so many times over.

"Kasumi,  _stop_. Breathe."

I jolted back to myself and heard the heavy, near-panicked breathing. My own breathing. I was hyperventilating. There was a wetness on my cheeks—I was crying, too.

_Breathe._

"In and out," Shikaku said. "That's all."

I pulled air in, forced myself to hold it, and then let it out again.

Repeat.

Repeat.

_Breathe._

In, out. Repeat.

Once I finally had my breathing under control, I muttered a small, "Fuck."

Shikaku smirked. "I'll let you get away with that one, I suppose. Have you considered going to talk to a Yamanaka?" He looked down at the board. "Your turn."

"Not really."

Shikaku shrugged. "Up to you, then. Anything else you need to add?"

"No."

"Great," he said. He slid his hand from out of his sleeve and set a piece down on the board to end the game—he won. "Go clean up and help Yoshino finish cooking. I'm going to go grab Maen; you two are staying for dinner."

He'd been dancing around me for the last twenty minutes, stalling the game. He could have ended it at any point with a single move. The only reason I lasted as long as I did—nearly an hour and a half, if I were to guess—was because he let me.

"Maen didn't mention that," I said.

"I just decided," he answered. He stood and stretched. When I didn't immediately move, he jerked his chin towards the house. "Off you go. I'll be back in a few minutes."

He turned and shambled off, leaving me alone on the porch. I was certain there was something more to it but I no longer had it in me to care at that point.

I went inside and the board, completed game on its surface, was all that remained.

* * *

"I've called you all here today to discuss the upcoming chunin exams."

A low murmur passed over the crowd that Hiruzen hushed with a single raised hand. Kakashi watched Asuma and Kurenai whisper to each other from the corner of his eye, saw the fourth jonin beside them shift in discomfort. He knew what they all intended to do.

"As you all know, things are moving along with the exams," Hiruzen continued. "The Forest is being readied as we speak, and the last preparations on the arena were completed earlier this week. All that's left now is for our village to decide who we put forth as chunin candidates." He gestured to the four of them who stood in a line near the front of the crowd. "Those in charge of the rookie genin please step forward."

All of them obliged.

"Kakashi, Kurenai, Asuma, and Yasuo. What do you say? Do any of you recommend your students, despite their inexperience? All of your teams have completed the minimum of eight missions that are required of them, but they are still rather green." Hiruzen looked to the right of the line. "Yasuo?"

Yasuo jolted, and his hand shot up to rest in front of his face. "I lead squad three. Sakura Haruno, Minori Funai, and Nao Hoga. I, Yasuo Enomoto, recommend all three of them for the chunin selection exams."

Kakashi felt the entire gathering of jonin behind him stiffen at that.

"My squad's ten," Asuma said before the crowd fully quieted. "Ino Yamanaka, Shikamaru Nara, and Choji Akimichi. I, Asuma Sarutobi, recommend all three for the chunin selection exams."

"I have squad number eight. Hinata Hyuga, Kiba Inuzuka, Shino Aburame. I, Kurenai Yuki, recommend all three."

Every eye in the room fell on Kakashi. They expected him to do the same.

Kakashi's gaze wandered to the back of the room, from where he felt a familiar, heated gaze rest on the back of his head.

Two weeks ago, he might have fulfilled their expectations. He might have brushed off the risk as being miniscule, given that he faced the exams at the age of six and came out unscathed. He might have deemed the potential pain as being valuable, something that could be a teaching aid. He might have ignored the chance of death and permanent mental or physical scarring.

Now, though? After everything?

He didn't think that was a lesson they needed anymore.

Kakashi brought his gaze back to the front of the room. "I'm the leader of squad seven. I won't be entering any of my students in the exams."

The entire room broke out in hushed whispers and mutterings. The heat against the back of Kakashi's head evaporated.

"Hold on just a minute!" a voice cried from the back. Iruka shoved his way through the crowd and situated himself beside Kakashi and the rest of the jonin sensei. "All nine of those names are of students I had at the Academy! I know their skills and abilities. They've got great promise, but they're not ready yet. They need more experience before they're tested. If they try now, they're just going to fail the exam."

Kurenai frowned. She turned to face Iruka, one hand settling on her hip. "Yes, but—"

"No!" Iruka interrupted. "This could  _destroy_  them. Is that what you want?" Iruka turned his eye to Kakashi. "Just ask Kakashi-san what happens to your students when you push them into a situation they're not fully prepared for."

 _Ah_ , Kakashi thought.  _Another person who's mad at me._

Kurenai cast Kakashi a glance but otherwise ignored the latter of Iruka's comments. "Of course I don't want to destroy them, but they're  _my_  students," she answered. "You should trust me to know what's best for them."

"How could you know? You've barely been teaching them for a month!"

"Enough," Hiruzen said. "You've both made your points. I find that, in this instance, I am more inclined to listen to Iruka-kun." He took a puff of his pipe and his eyes gained a grandfatherly glint to them, his gaze roving over the gathered jonin sensei. "He clearly feels very strongly about this—more strongly than you all, it seems. These genin are young and will have many opportunities in the future. There's no reason to rush any of them."

Kakashi himself didn't agree with Hiruzen's decision, but he did agree with the reasoning. Iruka made a better case than Kurenai, and neither Asuma nor Yasuo even attempted to argue against what Iruka said.

"Hokage-sama—"

"No, Kurenai-chan. I've made my decision. Your students will have to wait for the next exams to have their chance."

With those parting words, Hiruzen disappeared in a puff of smoke and left the rest of the room in stunned silence.


End file.
